


Third Time's A Charm

by InsertSthMeaningful



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: (at least I think some parts may be funny but I could be wrong), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Beach Holidays, Both are Fertile Bastards™, Charles Has Issues, Charles Xavier Needs a Hug, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Erik Is Crushing Harder Than A 12-Year-Old Girl, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik is a Sweetheart, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Rom-Com AU, literally no smut, this will be boring to read and I apologise in advance, too much plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21705121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful
Summary: Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr’s first date is a catastrophe, and that’s pretty much the only thing they agree on. Determined to never see each other again, they go their own ways.But when Emma Frost, best friend of Erik and the fiancée of one of Charles’ patients, moans about neither being able to attend her Egypt beach holiday nor cancel it, both of them see a chance to get away from the Christmas madness with their kids.What will happen will happen, and so, they soon find themselves having to deal with their feelings for each other more in-depth than they would like.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/ Charles Xavier & their children, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 65
Collections: Secret Mutant Exchange 2019





	1. Under New York City Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/gifts).



> Oh dear. So, first of all, I didn't expect my hand to slip so much. This was supposed to be a simple short story loosely based on the Adam Sandler movie "Blended" (I somehow have seen it twice, but don't watch it, it's sexist), but turns out I had to write a damn multichapter fic. Never again.  
> Also, I apologise that I couldn't write Charles/Erik/Jean for you, dear afrocurl. I have read some stories with that ship, but I simply feel not confident enough to attempt it myself (might have something to do with the fact that I've only ever written Jean as their daughter). I hope you enjoy my rambling writing regardless (:  
> Not proof-read yet, but I will as soon as I find the time to do so! In the meantime, feel free to point out any spelling and grammatical error, or just something that rubs you the wrong way, since you're already on it ;D

The clock’s hand gave a shudder and advanced to the next minute mark.

Erik sighed, his fingers drumming patterns on the tabletop in front of him. He had known it, verdammt. From the very moment Emma had walked into his shop with that cat-got-the-cream smile on her face, he had known. He could have predicted that it would lead to this bullshit, that he would have to endure another blind date where the guy wouldn’t even _bother_ to turn up.

The personnel of the cozy hole-in-the-wall café was already shooting him wary, pitying looks. His date should have been here twenty minutes ago, and he was at a loss for what to do. Get up, leave? Remain sitting and scowling at thin air until he turned to dust? Rip out the guy’s throat as soon as- or rather, _if_ he ever came stumbling through the shop’s door? Or just smile sweetly, docile, until he could backstab the fucker?

The latter it was, for no sooner had he finished revelling in his blood-thirsty fantasies that the coffee shop’s door bell chimed and a rather bewildered-looking man wheeled in, scouring the sparse customers with harried eyes.

From what Erik could see, he was slightly shorter than him, but squat, solid in his wheelchair which purred against Erik’s metal senses like a well-oiled sports car. On top of that, the man sported an honestly impressive shock of auburn hair looking like squirrels had been nesting in it for the last few days, or like he hadn’t slept in years.

Which was most probably the case, judging from the bags hanging under his eyes. And what a stunning sight just those eyes were: an unearthly hue of blue Erik had only ever encountered in the purest sapphires he had worked with, and suddenly he was overcome with the urge to get a very good camera so he could take pictures of those stunning irises and use them as samples, maybe for some beautiful enamel pearls, or-

What was he doing? Waxing poetry about his blind date’s eyes, that is, about his blind date’s eyes which he had only caught sight of half an hour late.

He felt his permanent scowl carve itself just that much deeper into his face. Great. More wrinkles, and he already looked so old some of his customers mistook him for fifty (he was in his thirties, and yes, parenthood _may_ have played a minor role in his aging prematurely).

And then his eyes actually met the blue ones across the coffee shop, and the world- didn’t come to a standstill.

Instead, it moved on while his late date – impressive arm muscles moving under his cardigan (a _real-life cardigan_ on a man who barely looked a day over twenty-five, and Erik decided he had seen it all) – wheeled over to his table, smiling the smile of a very stressed, very busy man who had been dragged into this whole affair against his will.

“Good afternoon,” the guy addressed Erik, extending a hand, “You must be Erik Lehnsherr. I’m very sorry for my delay, I’ve been busy… at work.”

Erik took the offered hand. “Then you must be Charles Xavier. Nice to meet you.” _Even though that’s a_ _generous_ _stretch_ , he thought to himself.

The pained smile crossing Xavier’s face a mere split second after he had formed the thought told him he had fucked up gloriously. And the strained British accent painting the man’s mock-casual utterance of “Oh, and I’m a telepath, and even though I don’t tend to go rummage in people’s heads without permission I still pick up their louder thoughts” only helped to confirm his suspicion.

His embarrassment growing, Erik blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, and which proved once again that he had zero social skills. “It’s just- You’re late.”

Awkward silence ensued, only filled by the muffled chatter of the other guests.

Finally, Xavier seemed to find the strength to pick himself up, and smiled, with his mouth only. “Well well, it seems some rumours about Germans are indeed true: punctual and with a discipline of iron.”

“Excuse me?” Erik couldn’t quite believe his ears. This man hadn’t just tried to start a conversation with the topic of national stereotypes, had he?

A delicate flush was making its way onto Xavier’s pale complexion. “Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry that I have offended you.” He maneuvered into his place on the coffee table, facing Erik, trying and failing to look guilty. “Shall we order, or have you already…?”

Erik gave a curt shake of his head. Oh, he wished he was home already, and cooking dinner for his children.

Meanwhile, Charles had waved over a waiter, his smile suddenly turning real as the blond young man leaned down towards him to take his order.

“How can I help you, Charles?”

In his chest, Erik could feel his heart plummet. Xavier must have chosen the café, or he wouldn’t know the staff, and apparently, Erik was now in for a whole load of social awkwardness, judging from the flirty stares exchanged between the two men (they acted like he wasn’t even there, and Xavier looked at least ten years older than the boy, _what the heck was going on?_ )

“Good afternoon Alex. How is your internship at Stark’s going? A chai latte for me please, oh, and I’m here with my date, Erik.” A dismissive nod towards the mentioned man followed, and Erik just wanted to grab his fedora and make it out of there as fast as he could speed-walk.

The waiter, _Alex –_ a fitting name somehow, the harsh inflexion at the end only emphasising his strong jawline, his exterior of a barely adult man who had been in juvie probably more than once -, turned to Erik, pulling up his notepad defensively against his chest as he went. “Good afternoon sir, what can I get you?”

Erik put on his best death glare. “An americano for me, please.”

Alex (Possibly A Youth Delinquent) nodded, turned on his heels and disappeared behind the counter as fast as he could manage.

Erik couldn’t help a small, satisfied smile creep onto his lips. He knew it was petty, but another asshole intimidated was… well, another asshole intimidated. And one hazard less in his life.

Judging from the disappointed frown currently scrunching up Xavier’s face, though, it seemed he hadn’t really endeared himself right then (and honestly, that was alright by him). Staring out of the window at harried passersby, he didn’t even think about making an attempt at conversation. To hell with the whole idea of dating, and to hell with this set-up disasters specifically.

Opposite him, his blind date cleared his throat. “Well… my babysitter set me up for this. Uh, the babysitter of my son, I mean.” Quickly, Erik glanced over to see it that slip up had been intentional or not, and conceded that it must have in fact been born out of a moment of confusion, or annoyance, or maybe just sheer boredom, since Xavier looked genuinely flustered.

He thought of extending an olive branch, then scrapped the idea, and finally, he did it anyway. “For me it was my coworker. She’s a telepath, just like you.” And then he thought of the twenty miserable minutes he had spent waiting for the arrogant guy, and that prompted him to change his mind and go in for the not-olive-branch mood anyway. “She’s pretty annoying, of course. With her so-called perceptiveness and all, and her habit to go beyond what is called respecting mental boundaries.”

The strike below the belt found its target. Xavier winced visibly, and was about to grind out a polite reply between his teeth when Alex The Ex-Offenderstrode over to them, gently placing Xavier’s latte in front of him- and then spilling some of Erik’s americano, barely going to the lengths of grabbing a serviette and wiping up the mess.

Erik narrowed his eyes at Xavier, who threw the blond boy a more than amused smirk. Oh, this meant war.

“So, you’re a father, then?”

Pleasure at the change of topic flitting over his face, the other man turned his attention back on him while his waiter friend scurried back to the coffee machine. “Why, yes. A little boy, David. He’s the sweetest kid ever. And you? Do you have children, if I may ask?”

Ah. He should have seen that coming. Erik leaned back, took a deep breath as well as the opportunity to squeeze in a snide remark. “Unlike you, I can’t afford a babysitter… so I have to handle my four angels alone.”

A widening of the eyes which had to be genuine. “Oh. _Oh_.” And then came the retaliating low blow. “Why did their mother divorce you?” Now, _that_ pitying look in his eyes wasn’t genuine at all.

Erik’s turn to grit his teeth. Then, “She died shortly after my youngest daughter was born, from cancer,” and he could see the shame bloom on Xavier’s face.

“Ah. I’m very sorry to hear that.” The man was avoiding his eyes, and Erik knew he was close, so close to winning this game of passive-aggressive antipathy they had going between them.

Suddenly though, he felt very tired, his eyes closing almost on their own accord. Why had life decided to be so hard on him? On him _specifically_? When he would come home this evening, he still would have to cook for Lorna and the twins returning from school, starving like a pride of lions, and then he had to phone Anya to make sure she was okay in her new shared apartment with other college students, and then came the bills, the accountancy, the work e-mails…

He could already feel the heels of his hands digging into his eyes as he tried to stay awake furiously, bent over his work desk. Gott, he had to get home and stop wasting his time here with this British snob.

Just that British snob’s gaze had turned pensive during Erik’s smaller mental breakdown. The sidewalk, covered in golden autumn leaves, had seemingly caught his attention, and he was worrying his bottom lip. For a moment, he looked almost beautiful, and for a heartbeat, Erik actually caught himself wishing they had met under different circumstances, when he hadn’t been so strained and so clueless and so _tired_.

And then that moment, that heartbeat, they were gone, and he reached for his fedora and his coat, tightened his scarf and slapped a five-dollar note onto the table. “I have to get home, sorry. Tell... _Alex_ to keep the change.”

Xavier almost looked like he wanted to say something, mouth agape, focus suddenly back on Erik. But then he just slumped back in his chair, nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

And that was it. That was Erik Lehnsherr’s blind date with Charles Xavier, and it ended as unspectacularly as it had begun, with one of them opening the coffee shop’s door while the other one was sat at their table, impassive, lonely, utterly miserable.

Erik didn’t look back as he crossed the street to get to his parked car. He didn’t glance behind to catch a last glimpse of the lonely figure sitting in the café’s window, and his metal powers didn’t stretch unnecessarily to keep a grip on Xavier’s wheelchair.

He didn’t even spend one thought on it.

Charles cursed lightly under his breath. Still, the librarian shot him a caustic look, and he smiled apologetically, then continued to stack the thick tomes his son had requested on his lap. God, he loved his boy, but sometimes he was so demanding… and he hadn’t even noticed, since until now it had always been Armando who had brought David his books from the library. Bless his babysitting skills and seemingly secondary mutation of being available anytime.

Except for right now, of course. The exact time of the year Charles was swamped with papers to grade and students to sweet-talk into stopping procrastination and instead starting to work on their projects in earnest – or, December, as normal people called it –, Armando had had to request he take the Thursday afternoons off because he just had to go take these salsa lessons, now, with his dating partner. And Charles understood, really, he did. Armando was in love, and even though he wouldn’t tell Charles who it was, his part-time employer would support him anytime.

It was just that actually having to deal with the more unpleasant aspects of having a child, such as cooking for him or getting him books from the library, grated on Charles nerves. Well, it wasn’t like he hated it. It was just… so much.

Always so much work. Sometimes he wanted it to stop, just stop. Or he wanted for something, someone to find him, who would take care of _him_ for once. But of course, this would never happen. Armando’s countless and equally fruitless set-ups hadn’t worked, not once.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he started wheeling up to the counter, where the librarian – a mutant with glimmering golden scales and phosphor green eyes – already stood waiting for him, a slim smile on their face. Then he remembered the member card, and began digging in his satchel, then in his suit pockets, because the bloody thing had to be somewhere- and that was probably why he only saw the man steering towards the issue desk when he collided with him, books spilling everywhere.

“Oh dear, I am so sorry. Here, let me...” That was all he needed right now, great. He bent as far as he could, scooping up books – fairy tales, graphic novels for children, the man had to be a father – and as he looked up and met the stranger’s eyes, he felt even more like dying of shame right then and there.

He knew those swirls of grey and green and blue. He had seen them before, only months ago, in autumn. On that pathetic blind date.

And no, he could not for the life of him recall the guy’s name.

“Uh,” he said eloquently.

His vis-à-vis didn’t seem less speechless. “Yeah.” Tall, svelte, but fit, the German – yes, he was German, that much Charles could remember – looked like a greyhound become human, and by god, did Charles wish they hadn’t taken an instant dislike to each other that damned day in October.

But enough of past regrets. He offered the books, extending his other hand for the tomes his son had requested and which his once-and-never-again date had picked up so unusually politely for him.

Behind the issuing desk, he could feel the librarian’s confusion slowly picking away at them. Obviously, they had been looking forward to a reenactment of the typical rom-com trope, with love at first sight and all. Well, they could go whistle for it.

Icy glares between them exchanged, Charles nodded for the German to go ahead, and the latter complied immediately. Ah, someone didn’t seem to be in the mood for petty games of who could be the most insulting.

At least Charles now had a good view of his would-be fling’s back side, which, he had to admit, was fairly impressive, ridiculously slim waist and all. The librarian seemed to think the same of their customer’s front side, judging from their eyes going wide and their thoughts suddenly fading into a peachy pink.

Charles almost sighed. No, he wasn’t in the mood for a flirt in front of his eyes. He focused on the librarian’s hands instead which were swiping the books’ bar code over the scanner, coaxing a small beep out of the device every time they passed. And they passed many times. How many books was this man even borrowing?

Then, he remembered. Right. Four kids to take care of, and a wife who… wasn’t around anymore.

Again, the utter embarrassment of that autumn day, the deep and certain feeling that he had been an absolute jerk, bubbled up in his chest. He had lain in bed and reflected it on far more occasions than he would have liked, and he still wasn’t over it, as irrational a concern as it was.

“Sir?” the golden mutant’s voice suddenly rang through to him, rousing him from wherever his mind had wandered off to. He looked up to meet their eyes.

“Excuse me, yes?”

They smiled, revealing teeth like needles. “Should I already begin to scan your books? This monsieur’s-” a nod to the tall German - “card is having difficulties recording all his books, it’ll take a minute or two.”

Charles nodded and wheeled forward, his almost-date stepping out of the way. “Alright, thank you very much.” He started hoisting the hardcover volumes out of his lap and onto the counter, letting a smile glide on his lips. “Here you go.”

The librarian took the first book, pulled it over the scanner, then stopped short and let their phosphor irises flit over the title. “Oh, the Edge Chronicles? Are you the father of that sweet boy, uh, what’s his name… David?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Charles nodded. “Oh, yes. How did you know, if I may ask?”

A conspiratory grin. “He’s always needling his babysitter into borrowing him these books, _always_. Have you not noticed before? He must be re-reading them over and over.”

At a loss, Charles grappled for words, and came up with nothing.

He didn’t even know his son’s favourite book series.

Slowly, realisation dawned on the librarian’s face, and a sideways glance to the German guy confirmed he was catching on to. Oh, how he just wanted to curl up and die. He was such an awful dad, and he couldn’t even justify it with his long working hours, because he knew he could take off more time, decline the occasional lecture or two, spend more hours at home and maybe even _attempt_ to learn how to cook a decent meal-

The German, _Erik_ , Erik was his name, cleared his throat. “Um. How are my books doing?”

Mercifully, the librarian focused on the screen of their computer. “Oh, quite well. We’re almost done here.” They continued swiping David’s books over the check-out, and Charles held out his library pass to them when they had finished. With an elegant flourish of their hand, they took it, pulling it through a slot. “Alright then, that would be all. Those should be on your account now, the loan period’s two weeks. Need a bag?”

Charles declined, pulled a canvas tote bag out of his back rest’s satchel and began loading the books into it. Meanwhile, the scaly mutant was finishing off Erik’s books, chatting casually with the German like they knew him (which they probably did, considering the vast section of children’s books and Lehnsherr’s four literary insatiable “angels”).

He thought he had everything, so he bid his farewell to the two others and wheeled himself towards the entrance, making sure the bag of books didn’t slip of his lap.

He was halfway through the automatic doors when he heard his name shouted behind him. “Xavier!”

Turning, he spotted Lehnsherr coming after him in long strides, brandishing his leather satchel packed to the seams in one hand and a library card in the other. “Your card. You forgot it.”

Charles frowned, massaged the back of his nose until he could finally scrape together the energy of smiling. “Oh, thank you.”

Wordlessly, his not-very-polite blind date handed him the piece of plastic, not meeting his eyes. Internally, Charles sighed, but out loud he just said steadily, “Well then, have a good evening.”

“Thanks. You too.” A curt nod was all he got then before Lehnsherr turned and headed down the sidewalk, into the opposite direction in which Charles’ car was parked.

Finally, he could let out his sigh, sitting there in the muddle that was NYC, passersby turning and twisting to get around his wheelchair. Stray thoughts of stressed Christmas shopping and strained family dinners flitted by, and suddenly, an idea began to take shape in his head.

Christmas was coming, and it was coming way too fast for his taste. But maybe this year, it would be different. Maybe he could make something out of it, seize an opportunity when it presented itself and treat his son and himself to… _something_ for once.

He just had to find out what that _something_ was. And with that thought in his head, he pulled on his finger-less gloves and started down the concrete towards his car, towards his home, and – most importantly – towards his kid.

It took Erik two weeks and the next visit to the library to notice he had not, in fact, pocketed his own card but the one of Charles Xavier.

A puzzled look on his face, he stood at the counter, Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Skulduggery Pleasant and all his kids’ other suggestions piled up in front of him, and stared at the damned piece of plastic not even making an effort to bear his name instead of that of the British snob. The librarian was tapping away on their keyboard hectically, determining whether Xavier would come around sometime soon and how they could book the books on Erik’s account anyway. For the first, they only came up with a week-long elongation for the series Xavier had borrowed, and as for the second one, it only took them some minutes to chirp out, “Ah, here we go! Should be no problem, Mr Lehnsherr.”

He gave the shimmering mutant a relieved smile. “Oh, good. Thank you, you just saved me from being eaten alive by my horde of kids.”

“Ah, no problem.” They winked, eyes giving off an almost eerie glow. “And as for Charles and your little malheur, I’m sure we will find a solution soon. I’ll write him an e-mail, and then we can think about a way to exchange your passes...”

Erik’s smile turned strained. Somehow, he got the distinct feeling that the librarian was talking about much more than just library cards. So, he tipped them his hat and took his escape as fast as he could.

When he returned home that evening, Lorna leaped into his arms from where she was sat on a chair at the kitchen table doing her homework, asking, “Papa, Papa, did you get me the new Skully book? Please tell me you did, please!”

He smiled, balancing her on his hip as he made his way over to the kitchen counter, putting down groceries. She was only thirteen, still a long way from the teenage age, and he had every intention of basking in her love while he still could. His twins, both aged fifteen, had turned into venom-spitting beasts overnight about half a year ago, so he knew what he was talking about. “Natürlich hab’ ich dir Skulduggery Pleasant mitgebracht. Und wir sprechen Deutsch zu Hause, ja?” _(Of course I brought you Skulduggery Pleasant. And we speak German at home, yes?)_

“Ja, Papa!” She smiled widely, teeth showing and her nose scrunching up most adorably. “Danke, Papa, danke vielmals!” _(Thanks, Dad, thank you so much!)_

“Kein Problem, Sternchen.” He gave his green-haired girl an eskimo kiss, then set her on the kitchen counter. “Bist du hungrig? Sollen wir kochen?” _(No problem, little star. - Are you hungry? Shall we cook?)_

She nodded so hard he was worried for a moment that her head would fall off. “Soll ich Wanda und Pietro suchen gehen?” _(Should I go search Wanda and Pietro?)_

He began to unpack and put away the bread and pasta and vegetables. “Das,” he said and gave her his widest grin, the one that always made her squeal in excitement, claiming it looked like a shark, “ist eine sehr gute Idee.” _(This – is a very good idea.)_

And off she was, sliding to floor and darting through their spacious apartment, knocking at Wanda and Pietro’s doors and cheerfully ignoring the grumbles coming from the rooms, ordering them to go set the table.

Erik turned to start chopping up potatoes, and listened what his two middle children were complaining about now (Wanda about how she never just had time for herself and some privacy, and Pietro about how he was always doing all the work around here, and Erik thought he would have to have a word with that young man sooner or later because he knew his son had never touched a vacuum cleaner or a washing machine, not even once, not even with his pinky).

Later, when the kids were doing their homework, chatting with friends or letting their brains rot in front of the television, he would phone Anya, his eldest, and make sure she was getting along with her flatmates in another part of the city, and after that, he would take out the album with the pictures of Magda and him and all their wonderful, wonderful kids, and by then, he would be in bed, alone, maybe with some bills and his laptop on his lap. So, he would be allowed to cry a little more than usual, clutching the Star of David Magda had worn as a necklace, scanning it over and over with his powers until it would feel like a part of his very being.

Such were his evenings, and he wouldn’t ever trade them in. For nothing in the world.

Even though he would have liked some things to be different. Oh-so different.

He had almost forgotten about the whole library pass business when one chilly winter day, only one week before the violent wave of Christmas presents and fatty food would crash over everyone’s heads, his shop’s doorbell chimed and he felt a familiar metal skeleton make its way towards him.

Behind him, standing over one of the display cabinets, Emma was tinkering with some pieces of jewelry. He panicked, ducked under the counter and pretended to search for something while subtly edging an SOS towards his business partner’s mind.

_Emma. Emergency! Emma, by-_

“What now, honey?” She turned around but stopped halfway through, icy eyes homing in on something- or rather, _someone_ across the shop. “Why, if this isn’t my fiancé’s lovely psychologist!”

Confusion turned Erik’s thoughts into cotton. Wait, how…? Carefully, he peeked over the edge of his mahogany counter, and promptly ducked again. It _was_ Xavier, and he had known it!

“Oh, good afternoon Miss Frost!” There was a smile in the man’s voice, warm, honest. “I did not expect to see you here. Are you looking for wedding rings? Oh, and have you seen the shop’s owner? I have to give him back his library card...”

From behind his hiding place, Erik frantically shook his head and made some unmistakably threatening gestures towards Emma, who only smiled and said, “Well, I’m his sales agent and occasional assistant, actually. And yes, I’ve seen him, I’m seeing him right now.” And she turned her head and nodded to Erik. “Sugar, I think you should come out now. There’s someone asking for you.”

Erik took the time to slowly draw a finger over his throat before he straightened up, brushing some dust of his pants’ knees and purposefully holding some gift boxes like he had intended to retrieve them instead of hiding from this awful man who was obviously stalking him. He gave an icy smile. “Good afternoon, Xavier. How can I help you?”

The man in question was looking around, obviously stunned at the sight of the various rings, bracelets and colliers arranged neatly around the room of the small corner shop. “Oh, I just wanted to… You know, yesterday I went to the library to give back my son’s books, and the librarian alerted me that I had the wrong library card. And well, so I thought I should give it back to you. I found your shop’s address on LinkedIn, and honestly, I am impressed by your work.” Finally, he met Erik’s gaze. “I didn’t think you were a goldsmith.” And there, the ghost of a smile, a friendly gaze, a genuine one. “But I have to admit it fits you.”

It took Erik a second or two to flounder for some eloquent words. “Ah. Thank you.” And then his brain decided to go ahead and fuck it all up anyway. “Now what about the library card?”

At least Xavier seemed only lightly rebutted. “Ah, yes, that thing.” He dug in his coat’s pocket for a few seconds, then in the other one, and in the end unearthed a wallet almost bursting at the seams along with some crumpled and dusty tea bags, an extravagant fountain pen and an empty package of mutation suppressants. “Here we go,” he muttered, peeling out the plastic rectangle with Erik’s name on it and handing it to him. “Can I have mine back, too?”

“Of course.” Jerkily, Erik reached for his own wallet in his dress pants’ back pocket, found it wasn’t there and turned to look in his leather satchel.

Meanwhile, Emma had walked over to their little table where they usually served walk-ins tea and cookies while talking through their expectations for their custom-made ornaments. There, she turned the kettle on, arranging some sweet snacks on a porcelain platter. “Since you’re here already, Charles, how about a little chat?”

The other telepath smiled, and Erik fiercely tried to glare a hole in the back of his partner’s skull while sliding Xavier’s library card over the counter. “Gladly,” Xavier accepted, “but just so you know: I won’t talk to you about Sebastian’s sessions with me, psychologist-patient privilege and all.” But he smiled as he said so.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Emma lifted a chair out of the way for Xavier to roll close to the table. “I’m sure we’ll find other things to talk about besides my lovely future husband. And Erik still has some work to do, so we won’t be disturbed.”

“Why thank you, Emma,” Erik grunted, but retreated to his goldsmith desk at the back of the room anyway, flicking on its lamp with a snap of his fingers as he went.

Behind him, Xavier giggled, and then his traitorous best friend and business partner started chatting away with the one man he had wished he would never have to see again in his whole life.

He sighed and started remolding a model of a custom engagement ring he had been working on earlier. Not everything in life was perfect. And obviously, this just was one of those days.

In the end, he was so focused on how the metal moved and twisted under his fingertips, obeying his every whim and twirling into beautifully intricate shapes, that he only became aware of the commotion at the small table when Emma started to raise her voice.

“Oh no! I’m going to chop his _dick off_!”

Xavier had set down his cup of tea and was peering at her phone’s screen. “But I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose-”

A dismissive huff. “I don’t care. He should have seen it coming, and now he’s just defenestrated a shitload of money.”

With a sigh, Erik turned around. “What’s happened _now_ , Emma? Don’t tell me he’s been cheating on you _again_.”

That earned him a pretty horrified stare from Xavier, whose hand with his cup of tea had frozen in mid-air, turning him into a statue of pure moral outrage. Emma however just smiled one of her razor-sharp smiles, voice like crystallizing winter air as she said, “No. But Seb’s just managed to acquire a new company into his folds. And that means we can’t go on the holidays I booked for us over Christmas and New Year’s Eve.”

Erik could feel his face fall. She had been swooning over that time off for months now, elaborating how she would lounge on a beach chair for days on end, sip pretentious cocktails and not move a finger for two whole weeks. Her quintuplets (which she hadn’t given birth to herself but adopted, because she was Emma Frost and Emma Frost didn’t get pregnant _as a rule_ ) would have been sponsored a scuba diving course, so she had them off her back as she jokingly said, but really she just wanted her girls to be happy. She had been so openly excited, and Emma Frost was a woman who wasn’t usually ready to show what she felt.

He ground his teeth. “Emma, you know what I always-”

“Oh, honey.” She pursed her lips, but behind her eyes like windows of stained glass, he could see her rage simmer. “I _know_ you never liked him, but he’s the love of my life, and I’ll just have to live with it.” She stuffed her phone back into her Chanel leather handbag – pristinely white, of course – and dispersed his worries with a graceful wave of her hand. “The only thing that really nettles me is that my five girls won’t be able to go alone, they’re too young still. Oh well, I’ll give him a piece of my mind and then we’ll go on a safari next summer.”

Xavier had finally unfrozen and taken a sip of his tea. Now, he chimed in. “Oh, that does indeed sound lovely. But I hope you’ll still be reimbursed by the hotel?”

Emma gazed at him first, then at Erik, the cogs so obviously whirring, calculating in her brain. Erik was already about to nudge her with a _What are you up to now?_ , when she shook her head. “No, unfortunately not. I won’t be able to cancel the reservation, it’s written in the contract. I thought the risk was worth it, but alas...” She heaved a sigh, her décolleté under her petal white fur coat rising. “But no more of this tragedy. Charles, what were you saying about the segregate education of the mutant youth?”

The spoken-to sent Erik a nervous grin, which wasn’t returned (Erik was far too busy nurturing an idea which had suddenly reared its head), so he ceased to look happy and glanced at his high-class wrist watch instead. “Oh dear, it’s half past five already! I should really be going, I have a hungry kid at home and papers to be graded.” He focused on Emma again, not paying Erik any attention. “Very sorry to leave it here, but we can continue our conversation over tea and scones someday soon? I know a cozy little coffee shop which would be just right for that.”

Erik’s business partner nodded, pleased that she had been able to lure in another person she would maybe be able to confide in (she had complained about the lack of such figures in her life, after all, and Erik had snapped at her to go look for someone other than him and stop whining about it, but he still felt just a little bit jealous seeing she would actually go through with that plan). “It would be a pleasure. You have my number, yes?”

Gathering up his scarf and coat and whatnot Xavier had thrown on his lap and donning them, the man with sky eyes looked up to Emma, a soft edge to his lips, like he had already taken her into his heart. “I do, and I very much look forward to meeting again, too. Now-” He pulled on some finger-less gloves and gripped the wheels of his means of transport, maneuvering around until he was facing the door- “goodbye to you too, Erik, and I hope us swapping our library cards wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.” And then, with a smile and a flourish of his hand, he was gone, out of the shop’s door and onto the sidewalk.

Erik watched him go, and almost felt relieved. Almost.

Then, he straightened up and caught Emma’s gaze piercing his skin. “What? Spit it out, sweetheart, your anticipation makes my teeth clatter.”

A deep breath. Erik tried a smile and actually managed a decent one. “About your holidays with Shaw… you said you couldn’t cancel.”

She watched his every move closely. Unlike Erik had suggested to Xavier, she wasn’t a nosy telepath, sticking her feelers where they didn’t belong. No, she respected the boundaries of his head, only picking up what he wanted her to pick up or what he couldn’t stop from oozing through. Many people wanted to be treated that way, so she had learned body language. And, as his best friend, she had studied Erik especially. “Yes. That’s why I said he’d wasted our- oh.” Her eyebrows rose. “Lehnsherr, you sly little bastard!”

Peeling back his lips into a grin, he shrugged. “What? Since you can’t go, I thought, why _waste that money_? You know how I promised the kids some decent holidays, and now, I just see an opportunity presenting itself...”

Her laughter, plinking and shimmering like frost, permeated the air between them. “You’re such an opportunist, you know that? But okay, take it!” She sashayed over to poke him in the biceps. “And tell the little brats their stay in Egypt is by my courtesy, auntie Emma.”

“Oh, I will.” The corners of his eyes were crinkling ridiculously, and in the evening he would once again study himself in the bathroom mirror and mourn the withering of his looks, but right then and there, he couldn’t have cared less. A ray of hope, of pure, warm hope, had just slipped into his life. Finally, _maybe_ , he would make his children happy. Be a good father to them. “I will.”

That evening, the first thing Charles did after he had wheeled into his apartment and shrugged off his layers of gloves and coats was to fish out his phone, start to type out a message to Emma Frost (soon to be Emma Frost-Shaw), hesitate and then go on to delete it again.

For a few heartbeats, he hovered by the clothes hooks, uncertain if he should reveal his idea to David just yet. He had a plan, yes, but that didn’t mean it had to work out. The cogs in his head whirred. Maybe he shouldn’t write Emma just yet, maybe wait a few hours so it didn’t seem like he was hellbent on getting what he wanted…

The tapping of bare feet on floorboards interrupted his train of thought as a fluttering presence, like a butterfly in the height of summer, pressed up against his mind. A shiver ran down his spine. His son had expressed at the age of eleven, two years ago now, and still Charles wasn’t entirely used to him actively reaching out, both with his mind and his powers, moving Charles’ tea cups when he wasn’t looking or sending him elaborate artificial memories which he called “mind drawings”.

It wasn’t like he was afraid of David. He trusted that Gabrielle and him, they as parents, had done a good job at educating the child, showing him there was more love than hate in the world, that there would never be need to lash out. It was just that Charles was worried for David’s safety. One day, his son would be a powerful mutant, maybe even an omega level one. Gabrielle and him were aware of that, they would know how to protect him in case of an emergency, from the mutates who called themselves superheroes, from the human system of justice which rarely considered the needs of mutants. But they had never found a way to protect David from himself.

Charles shook those discouraging thoughts from his head. No time for worries now, he was home, he would say hello to his son and then go make dinner in the kitchen. He was a functional dad.

He pushed back against his son’s thoughts – all of them giddy with excitement, had the kid overheard his plans? - and sent warmth, the safe feeling of arriving and the joy of seeing a loved one. Out loud he said, “Hey there, little bookworm. Want a hug?” and opened his arms, smiling invitingly at the lanky boy with the mismatching eyes, the left one green, the right one blue.

Not a second went by before David’s light body flew into his embrace, and Charles hugged him and nearly cried when his son rasped out, “Hello Daddy, I’m glad you’re home. Armando made some risotto with peas and omelet and said you just have to put heat it up on the stove.”

This was Charles’ son, and it also was one of those moments when he couldn’t quite believe _he_ had helped create him, this small mutant being with such big potential.

Finally, the untangled their arms, and Charles held David by his shoulders, looked him in the eyes and said, “I’ll have to thank Armando next time I see him, for taking such good care of you, pumpkin. Now, I have to work after dinner, but we can watch half of that Africa documentary today if you want.”

An eager nod, then a sly glint in unmatched eyes. “Do you have a surprise for me?”

Charles chuckled and started towards the living and kitchen area, his satchel on his lap and his son close behind. “David, what did I tell you about peeking?”

“It’s not polite and people might get angry. But,” his son spoke up, tone already imitating that of his father when he was about to make a point, “you were thinking about it so loud I couldn’t unhear it!”

“But then you already know what the surprise is, don’t you?” Leaving his documents on the couch, Charles wheeled over to their kitchenette and started on reheating Armando’s pre-prepared meal (a gift from the heavens, considering he would have burned dinner instead and they would have ended up with expensive take-out from one of the only healthy food places in their part of the city).

The pout behind his back was almost tangible. “I only know it makes you very excited. And that’s it’s somewhere else than New York.”

“Hmm.” Charles batted away a tendril of thought trying to sneak into his short-time memory while stirring the risotto. “Let’s discuss it after dinner, shall we? How about you tell me about your day at school instead, honeybun?”

Grumbling, David complied, but didn’t even object when Charles asked him to retrieve plates and cutlery while he talked. Obviously, school had been okay while time with Armando had been great, and after doing homework, they had played board games, oh, and on the way home there had been a kitty and David just hadn’t been able to resist and had stroked it, and could they pleasepleaseplease get a cat? Charles had to tell his son to calm down so the plates he was hovering over to the table wouldn’t crash, and that no, they wouldn’t get a cat because it would be lonely the whole day and that this point was not to be argued. But, he added after further consideration (and after David had applied those damn puppy dog eyes both of his parents had handed down to him), one day, when David was all grown up and had his own flat, he could get as many kitties as he wanted. Naturally, that only slightly comforted his son, and for the whole of serving dinner, enjoying Armando’s cuisine and then doing the dishes, they argued back and forth about the merits of a pet and so, the surprise was forgotten soon. Which served Charles just right, he realised when he checked his messages and then remembered he hadn’t even written Frost yet and could have gotten David’s hopes up for nothing.

Propped up on the couch, his son’s head with its unruly shock of hair on his shoulder and the TV broadcasting calming animal noises, he inconspicuously typed out his request to his patient’s fiancée.

Half a nature documentary later, David was off to his room – devouring book after book, probably – and Charles was sat at their kitchen table, getting ready to go over his students’ first drafts for their projects, when his phone pinged. He promptly scrambled for it and unlocked it, and yes, it was Emma, and she had asked in return _why_ he wanted to know whether the Egyptian hotel’s beach was wheelchair accessible.

There was a winking emoji after her message. He almost sighed in relief.

And when a second message came in only seconds after, reading that she had looked it up and there wasn’t even a real beach, just a sandy terrace at the seafront, and that it would be perfect for a paraplegic single father and his son, he wished he was in Emma’s presence and could give her a long, tight hug.

In the end, the formalities took about fifteen minutes of sending information back and forth until Charles had secured David and himself the opportunity to escape the Christmas madness and fly to Egypt for two weeks. He smiled, perched over his papers. Finally, things looked like they might work out for once.

That afternoon, Erik didn’t head straight home after work, but instead made a small detour to a chocolatier and bought a box of truffles, and then made a bigger detour to his eldest daughter’s flat she shared with two other students.

One of them opened the door, eyes honing in on the sweets. “Whoa there, daddy-o, what brings you to our doorstep?”

Before he could answer, rapid footsteps could be heard in the hallway behind her and then Anya’s head popped up over her roommate’s shoulder. Ratatouille, Anya’s pet rat, stared at Erik with its beady eyes. He stared back.

“Oh hey Paps! Charlie, leave my father alone, he’s here to visit me!”

Muttering something about hot parents and how they shouldn’t be legal, the other girl disappeared back into the depths of the apartment (which, for Erik’s taste, was far too unkempt, clothes strewn everywhere and papers on every surface, but he wisely choose not to comment on his daughter’s housekeeping skills). Anya grinned after her, but left Erik few time to compose himself before she turned and leaped to hug him, arms like a vice around his neck. After some awkward seconds of maneuvering the chocolate out of the way, he returned the embrace and breathed in, just holding his eldest. Her rat was exploring his hair, but he didn’t mind. It had been a few weeks already since he had dropped by.

“So,” Anya said and pulled back, “as Charlie said, what made you come here? I hope the brats are alright. Oh, and I’ll take that, thank you very much.” She grabbed the box of pralines and hugged them close, pushing Ratatouille back with her chin when he started to nibble at the cardboard.

Erik smiled. “Neinnein, alles ist gut zu Hause, und bitte sei nett zu deinen Geschwistern. Ich wollte dich nur was fragen… was hältst du von Weihnachtsferien in Ägypten?” _(Nono, everything’s alright at home, and please be nice to your siblings. I just wanted to ask you something… what do you think about Christmas holidays in Egypt?)_

Her eyes snapped back and up to his face, and he knew he had her full attention.

It was bedtime in the Xavier household. Charles was tucking in David in his bedroom plastered with posters of space travel and superhero movies when his son’s mind suddenly lit up like a light bulb and he almost started to vibrate under his covers.

“Daaad,” he whined, and Charles grinned. He had waited for this moment.

“Yes, David?” He leaned down and placed a peck on his son’s forehead, only for it to be promptly wiped away with a pyjama sleeve.

A pout and a glare accompanied the next words. “You didn’t tell me what the surprise was.”

“Well, space captain,” Charles mused, “I’m sorry but I _think_ I forgot.”

“No fair!” He got an image of David hitting him with the pillow, and then the glimpse of an idea which involved a pillow fight and much giggles and fun, but luckily his son didn’t act on his idea and instead chose to needle him further. “Dad, you promised you’d tell me! Please, can’t you try to remember?”

Charles made a show of massaging his temples and squeezing his eyes shut, rocking back and forth in his wheelchair. “I- I think I can see something, maybe- oh wait, there it is!” Grinning, he sent his son a hazy image of an airplane ticket, a sea of clouds and then a real sea, glistening blue under a relentless sun. “You know what? I think we might be going on holiday over Christmas!”

Now his son was definitely vibrating, and so was his bed. Charles had to put down a calming hand on his shoulders, and even then David’s voice almost broke with excitement when he squeaked out, “What, where? Where are we going, Dad?”

He had foreseen this reaction, and still it took him some seconds to get over the joy emanating from his boy’s mind, the sheer, overwhelming gratitude and love. “Ah, we’re flying to Egypt, to a hotel on the Sinai peninsula. You can learn scuba diving there, and I can lay on the beach and get sunburn.” Which wasn’t that untrue a statement, considering that David had inherited his mother’s sun-loving, darker complexion instead of his father’s milky white, annoyingly fickle skin.

“Oh, thank you thank you thank you! Thank you Dad!” And withing seconds, he had a very excited, very much wide-awake boy clinging at his neck, and when he closed his arms around his son’s lanky body, he just so stifled a sigh.

He should have seen this coming. It was going to be a fight bringing David down again and getting him to sleep.

But oh well, it was totally worth it.

Erik came home just in time to rustle up some dinner and round up Lorna for getting into a minorscuffle at school, and by the time he had finally managed to sit down the three kids, he felt like banging his head on the tabletop. Pietro, of course, was blissfully unaware of this and went on a rant about how the grated parmesan cheese tasted like its plastic wrapping, until Wanda kicked him in the shin under the table and told him to shut up because Papa wanted to say something.

At first, Erik seriously considered letting his tormentors stew in their own juices for a little while longer, but Wanda must have picked up a stray thought because she reared her head and hissed, “Papa, du bist gemein!” He only shrugged, chewed his mouthful of spaghetti, swallowed and then washed it down with a swig of his water before he straightened up and placed his hands to both sides of his plate.

“Also, Kinder. Euer Vater hat heute das Unmögliche möglich gemacht, und ich hoffe ihr seid mir ab jetzt für immer dankbar…” _(Alright,_ _kiddos. Today, your father has made the impssible possible, and I very much hope you’ll be always grateful from now on…)_

“Spit it out, old man,” came a grumble from Pietro, and this time it was Lorna’s turn to kick him and then dodge a ball of crumpled napkin coming for her head at high speed.

“Pietro.” Erik fixed his son with a firm stare. “Sei nicht so respektlos, und sprich Deutsch wenn du zu Hause bist. Verstanden?” _(Don’t be so disrespectful, and speak German when you’re at home, understood?)_

He got a _very_ reluctant nod.

“Gut.” He folded his hands over his plate. “Also… wir gehen in die Ferien über Weihnachten.” _(Good. - Well then… we’re going on holiday over Christmas.)_

Everyone around the table erupted into cries of delight and frantic questions.

“Aber was ist mit Hanukkah? Nehmen wir unsere Menorahs mit?” _(But what happens to Hanukkah? Are we taking our Menhoras?)_

“Do we still get presents?”

“Ist es am Meer? Bitte sag dass wir schwimmen gehen können!” _(Is it at the sea? Please say that we’ll be able to go swimming!)_

Smiling, he leaned back to cross his arms over his chest and watch the excitement unfold in front of his eyes before he spoke up again. “Also, eines nach dem anderen...” _(Alright, one after the other…)_

In the end, it took the whole dinner time and then the whole span of doing the dishes and sitting down the kids at their homework to lay out his plans. There were many questions to be answered, many promises to be made and many pleas to be rebutted. Lorna especially was so wound up Erik had had to send her play with some metal scraps in her room for a bit so she didn’t melt all their cutlery, and all three were delighted at the prospect of spending two full weeks in the sun, at the beach and with their eldest sister back among them (well, there were some complaints about the latter, but Erik insisted they all love each other for the time being). The twins finally negotiated scuba diving lessons for all of them, even though Erik only agreed on the full certificate for Anya and himself. He knew the younger three weren’t big enough yet, and Lorna would collapse under the weight of an oxygen tank, but that was an issue they could handle on place. Also, he had done some research already and knew the hotel’s dive center was offering trial courses.

Yes, his wallet would suffer greatly. But Emma had outright refused to let him pay for the flight and the booked accommodation, with the explanation that Sebastian deserved to be exploited (a slight suspicion that she could have set up the whole drama with her to-be spouse so she could present him with the long-needed time off without directly offering it to him as a gift was beginning to nag at him, but he chose not to dwell on it because for once, he deserved nice things, too).

His kids just so didn’t manage to escape their bed time, and with a great deal of moaning and whining, they retreated to their rooms and handed in their smartphones. But for the rest of the night, a quiet humming filled the apartment as Erik lay in bed, Magda’s Star of David pendant clutched close to his chest. It was Wanda dreaming of floating beneath the waves. It was Lorna making her bed’s metal frame rattle with the joy she had carried over into sleep. It was Pietro twitching at superhuman speed under his cover, still engulfed by the prospect of going somewhere he had never been, a strange place full of possibilities.

Erik smiled, and smiled, and smiled. The clock had struck midnight already when he finally fell asleep, and then, in the very moment between waking and dreaming, he knew he had done the right thing.

It took Charles all his willpower to not make a beeline for the liquor cabinet after carefully closing David’s bedroom door behind him.

He had done well today. He really had. David had come to greet him as soon as he had wheeled through the door, they had had a pleasant evening and nothing all too spectacular had happened. He was a good father. He was fine.

He was a rubbish parent.

Buying his child’s love with big, costly presents wasn’t a healthy method for their relationship. Sooner or later, David would see how incapable Charles was, and he would accuse him of growing up the way he had, of having become the adult he had become. Charles was about to ruin his son’s life.

That day in the library, the day he had found out his son had a favourite book series he had known nothing about, a sudden fear had gripped Charles’ innermost being. It had began to gnaw at his very bones, and it was still at work.

He was a psychologist. He had studied the human psyche, knew how humans and mutants alike were easily influenced during the first few years of their childhood. In that phase, their character traits were implemented for life, and most of the time, the people they got those from were their parents. They adopted their father’s, their mother’s behaviour, and would never quite get rid of it.

Now it wasn’t like Charles’ father would have been a problem. He rarely ever remembered the man’s face. His mother though was something else entirely.

On his desk, there lay swathes of paper, essays, drafts, forms, scrawled on by his students in messy handwriting, or by his patients. He gripped the wood’s edge with both hands, tightly, breathed in, breathed out. He would not panic. He knew a trick, and he would use it. He just had to ask himself where his feet were at that very moment, and he would calm down.

It didn’t work.

Sight going blurry, he bonked his forehead on the tabletop and tried not to sob, or to think about the bourbon in his liquor cabinet. He didn’t want to become his mother. The thought of abandoning his son for days on end just because he didn’t feel like doing anything else than passing out in his own vomit made him feel nauseous, and so did the idea of pushing David back when he needed help, with homework, with his friends, with a jacket’s particularly stubborn buttons. Of course he had avoided this, but then there was something else.

David had met more than just one or two of his flings. The men or women had usually had breakfast with them, made awkward conversation until they could flee from the flat, and some had come back. There were his more long-term relationships, all of which David had eyed warily at first and then embraced like a child which had to be flexible at all times would do.

It reminded Charles of his mother’s habit of bringing home random blokes every weekend or so. Some had had greedy hands, others had just regarded him with impassivity. None of them had stayed longer than a few hours, and rarely had one ever appeared at their doorstep again. Yes, they were entirely different from his dating habits.

Still. One day maybe, it would be David’s turn to get himself a drink every evening, forget picking up his kid from school and shielding their eyes when his one-night stands walked past, only half dressed. And David would blame Charles. He would blame him so much.

The papers beneath his brows were soaked, his hands were all jittery. He took a deep breath, straightened up and raked his hands through his hair.

It was close to midnight already.

He shot the clock a weary glance, then, uncannily, his eyes drifted over to the cupboard where he kept the bottles of expensive spirits he had thought would be a waste to discard. There was work waiting for him tomorrow, and David’s dreams were soaking in through his mental shields, dreams of breathing underwater and of hot and searing sand.

Firmly gripping his wheels, he rolled past the kitchen door and into the bathroom, got ready for bed and fifteen minutes later was laying under the covers, mind going a mile a minute. This time, he had resisted. Other evenings, he had been less lucky, and he would be less lucky in the future, too.

It took him what felt like hours to fall asleep.

On the day of travel, the twenty-second of December, Erik piled all his kids and their luggage in his second-hand car which only ran on hope and some skillful manipulation of the coupling with his metal powers, and then they took off to the JFK Airport.

It was a messy affair. Wanda and Pietro had only packed their bags the evening before, and now they had to stuff clothes from their suitcases into their hand luggage right in front of the check-in desk so the pieces wouldn’t be over the airline’s weight limit. Erik glared at the curious and pitying bystanders hurrying by as best as he could. Anya, meanwhile, had taken Lorna with her to pass off Ratatouille (she had threatened to smuggle him if she couldn’t take him with her to Egypt) to a flight attendant specialized on taking care of pets, and he could just so sense her wristwatch on the other end of the airport’s giant hall.

They were in for about twenty-one hours of flying and changing planes in an obscure-sounding airport in the middle of Saudia Arabia. Already, he could feel a headache coming on. It was going to be a long flight.

Somehow, they made it through the security control without anyone having an eye taken out or a limb wrenched off, and finally, they were standing at their gate, hand luggage on their backs and mutation suppressant in their hands. Of course, they would be obliged to take those. A whole family of mutants on a plane, all of them gifted (or cursed, if some mutantphobics had their way) with highly destructive powers, was nothing any airline was allowed to tolerate. And the Lehnsherrs just had to accept that, if they wanted to get to Egypt in one piece.

In the end, Erik was the first to screw open one of the expensive cans of mineral water they had purchased after the security checks and gulp down his pills, scrunching up his nose as he did so. But he was a father, and a father had to be a good role model for his kids.

Moaning, his daughters and his son followed his example, even though Anya complained that there was really no reason for having to take the meds, too, because what could she do, order Ratatouille to scratch out the pilot’s eyes?

She shut up quickly after a security guard standing at the boarding gate seized her up slowly and shot her a menacing look. Erik just rolled his eyes and then ushered his brood to go sit and wait in the row of chairs the gate was lined with until the boarding would begin.

Then, something strange happened. He had just opened one of the free magazines he had found laying around on a table when a tingling at the outskirts of his fading powers caught his attention. He couldn’t help his head snapping up, but before he could get a fix on the object – a metal skeleton shaped like a chair, with footrests and wheels and handles to push it, almost like a down-graded version of a wheelchair – it had disappeared down the tube connecting the airplane to the gate, leaving nothing but a suspicion nagging at the back of his head behind.

He returned to the paper he was reading, scanned the pictures of idyllic landscapes and hipsters posing in front of colorful sunsets without really seeing them. Emma wouldn’t have… or would she? After all, she was Emma Frost, and if there was something Emma Frost wasn’t, it was a predictable woman.

As the last sense of metal around him oozed away and the announcement that the boarding for the flight to Sharm El Sheikh was now open blared over the loudspeakers, he huffed and got up to herd his children towards the airplane. It could not possibly be. They were off to enjoy a wonderful holiday, away from the Christmas craze, only them and the sea and maybe some other hotel guests. There would be no disturbance at all, and everything would turn out to be fine, if not superb.

He almost believed himself when they walked onto the plane and settled in their economy class seats. And he most definitely let a small smile slip onto his lips as the machine took off and they were on their way around half of the globe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave kudos and comments if you feel like it, that would make my day :D


	2. The Stars Of Egypt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on my holidays in Egypt (: it's lovely there, especially over the winter months when it's freezing in Europe. And if you ever get the chance, try snorkelling or scuba diving! Depending on the location, you'll get to see lots of spectacular sea life like in a nature documentary.

Charles almost sobbed with relief when he could change out of the aisle seat he had had to use during the flight and back into his regular wheelchair. It had been a long journey, in airplane seats, at foreign airports and pass controls, and now he was wheeling out of the Sharm El Sheikh arrival hall into a balmy morning on the Sinai peninsula. At his side, an airport assistant was carrying his suitcase and trying not to stare at David’s heterochromia and unruly hair.

The sky was blue, bare of clouds, and in the distance, rocky outcrops faded into shades of brown and yellow. They were in a desert, and once again, Charles marveled at the tenacity of mankind, to build a life where surviving seemed impossible. And mutants could be just the same, if only they were given a chance.

He sighed. No time for heavy thoughts now, they were on holiday, and their shuttle was waiting to take them to Dahab, a small coastal town where they would spend two full weeks. At his side, his son was vibrating with excitement again, hopping up and down as he walked.

In the car park, a lonely minibus was parked, its driver – a girl, looking barely over twenty, black-haired and with a European physiognomy – leaning by the passenger door. When she looked up and saw them, she immediately came up to them, face impassive as she extended a hand to shake for Charles.

“Hello, I hope you had a good flight. I’m an employee of the _Seaside Pearl_ and have come to pick you up. Let me take your luggage.” And without waiting for confirmation, she did so and shooed away the airport assistant.

Soon, they were settled in the taxi, Charles in the passenger seat because it was easier to transfer himself into, David directly behind him at a window, pressing his nose flat on the glass. Laura – as was the girl’s name – told them they would be waiting for more guests, five to be exact, and Charles couldn’t help wondering where they would be from, if they were nice and whether he could make some good conversation with them to pass the one-hour drive to Dahab.

It turned out that this hour would be the longest and most embarrassing of his life.

Laura was already huffing in the driver’s seat and muttering under her breath how she could as well drive back without the others when delighted children’s voices fluttered over through the car park and a party of two grown-ups and three kids came up to the van, dragging suitcases and hand luggage in a chaos that could have been a match for the big bang. It took Charles a few seconds, but when he did recognise the man supervising everything, he felt like unraveling in embarrassment.

Behind him, David looked up, having sensed the abrupt swing in his father’s mood, and asked, _Dad, is everything alright? Who are these people?_ Charles sighed and began massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Hi, I’m your driver. Hope you had a good flight,” Laura’s voice came from outside, and then a young woman, a rat nesting in her dark locks, clambered into the back of the minivan, followed by teenage twins – a boy with silver hair and a girl with a mind churning away like that of a telepath – and another girl, barely older than David and with a head full of hair as green as seaweed. And then came their father, tall, lean, permanent scowl on his face, and Charles knew who he was even before he came into his line of sight, with those thoughts clear and sharp as steel sprawling out around him.

It was Erik Lehnsherr, and before Charles could react and pull his head back behind his seat back, the German had spotted him and gone still, almost petrified. He looked ruffled, tired beyond belief (no surprise considering he had had to handle four instead of one kid and David already was a menace to society) and, at the sight of Charles, utterly done. And all he was capable of uttering seemed to be, “Not you again.”

Charles only nodded and forced a smile on his face even thought it felt more like a grimace. “Same to you.”

The drive to their hotel was the longest hour Erik had ever had the misfortune to live. And it only got worse from there on.

Both his and Xavier’s brood seemed to have difficulties understanding what was going on, though the boy with the mismatched eyes and Wanda would occasionally jolt in their seats, and then standing in the small hotel lobby, as though they were picking up things they shouldn’t. On the next best occasion, Erik took his daughter aside to tell her once again that peeking into strangers’ heads wasn’t allowed, but all he got was a pout and a muttered, “But the other boy is doing the same, just more sneakily.”

Now that was all he had needed. Of course, the telepath would have a telepathic son, and an ill-behaved at that. Did that man not know how to teach his child manners?

But just before a Latino-looking woman, young, pretty, with fire-fly wings folded behind her back, made it behind the counter, he saw Xavier and his son – David, he believed – exchange a look loaded with meaning, until the boy smiled lightly and was mirrored by his father, a tender gesture Erik wouldn’t have expected from the man who otherwise seemed so maladroit. He shook his head and focused on getting his kids to stand still while the woman shot them an apologetic grin and started up the computer on the reception desk.

It took her a lot of tapping on the keyboard furiously until the machine was up, but everybody was a pure incarnation of patience. David was glancing over at Erik from the corner of his eyes, staring at Lorna and Pietro’s hair with wonder, especially fascinated by Ratatouille, too, who had chosen to perch on Anya’s shoulder.

“So,” the girl’s voice finally rang out to them, “very sorry for the delay! You are the family that’s coming to stay for two weeks, yes? In the big suite?”

Horror shooting through him, Erik stole a glance at Charles and was pretty sure he was wearing the same expression as the latter.

Some moments of awkward silence ensued, in which all eyes were trained on the two men.

Wheeling closer to Erik, Xavier abruptly cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, of course. We booked under the name of Frost and Shaw.”

“Perfect. You can call me angel, I’m the receptionist, the social program organizer, the publicity agent, in short, the backbone of our small hotel here.” She clapped her hands, smile so wide Erik was afraid her face would split in half. “Thank you for choosing us. Business has been slow-going since the terrorist attacks, but don’t worry, we’ve got excellent security here. Let me show you to your room, Laura is currently getting your luggage there.”

Chipper demeanor never failing, she strode off to their rooms, and Erik had no choice but to usher his kinds into following her. Behind him, he felt Xavier’s wheelchair moving along, a small body with iron cursing through his veins beside him. He drew in a breath. Either this was going to be a complete shit show, or the suite wasn’t actually that bad and they could compromise, even though that would mean they would have to talk to each other-

Angel walked up to a heavy wooden door, produced a key card from the back of her jeans, squeezed it into a reader on the wall beside the slabs of rich mahogany and then, with a flourish of her hand, drew one wing open.

Their luggage was already in a massive pile on the tiled floor, there was a huge glass front looking out onto the promenade pier and on the blue, blue sea behind that, light-tight curtains drawn aside. To both sides of the room fitted with two double beds and one sofa bed, a small door led to another chamber, the bathroom probably, and then Angel went to the one on the right to open it, too. Behind it was another bedroom, but this one with only one king-sized bed, rose petals strewn on the covers and towels folded into the shape of two swans kissing.

When he looked over to Xavier, the man was blushing furiously, lips drawn into a tight line. Then, he caught Anya’s grin, amused, predatory and just a bit pitying, and raised an eyebrow at her while, with a superhuman effort, willing his hand not to come up so he could facepalm for a long, long time.

All the time, Angel seemed oblivious to the sub-text going on around her, explaining this and that, how the shower worked, when breakfast and dinner were served and where to ask for day trips to various diving hot spots or cultural attractions. She had spoken the truth: The place was small, but well-rounded, perfect to spend one’s holidays there if it weren’t for blind dates uninvitedly showing up with their own kids, or kid, in this case.

“Alright!” Angel gave everybody, especially Lorna and David, a wide, sunny smile, then started out of the suite, long wings shimmering on her back. “If you have any questions, I am available at the reception or over the room’s phone. Now I hope you can have a nice rest of the afternoon and settle in a bit. See you at dinner time!”

And off she was, disappearing down the hallway with her sneakers squeaking on the floor, until she turned a corner and was gone.

For a long time, no one in the room uttered a word.

It was Anya who finally broke the silence. “So. Frost and Shaw, huh? Who even are you guys?”

At all the attention suddenly directed at him, David shuffled his feet. Charles, thought, simply grasped his son’s hand where it was fiddling with his shirt sleeve and looked up at Erik’s eldest. “I’m Charles Xavier, and this is David Haller-Xavier, my son. Nice to meet you.” And then, he smiled, and Erik could feel his children relax immediately at the calming gesture. Only he remained tense. “I guess you came to this holiday the same way we did, through Emma Frost and her fiancé?” This question now was directed at Erik.

He nodded. “Yes. Since she couldn’t cancel it, I asked her if we could go in her stead.”

“Thought so.” Xavier’s smile turned self-satisfied. “Well, now I guess we have a problem.”

Pietro snickered, and when Erik squinted his eyes at him, he mumbled, “But Paps, he’s right. What are we gonna do now?”

“We,” Erik began and studied their suite, “are going to split up. I have no intention of calling this off, so I suggest we split. Xavier, you and your son take that… love birds bedroom or whatever this monstrosity is, and we’ll make ourselves at home here.” He gestured around to the double beds.

Xavier didn’t even object like Erik had half expected him to, just nodded, then began picking his way through the mountain of luggage and finally hauled his own suitcase up onto its rolls (which, considering that he was in a wheelchair, was remarkable). “Good problem solving, my friend. David, please get your suitcase, then we’ll settle in, yes?”

The boy with the wild hair nodded, lifted one hand at the same time as a small suitcase, definitely not one of the Lehnsherrs, picked itself up from the ground and began hovering towards the adjacent bedroom. Wanda and Lorna gasped, Xavier just shook his head with a smile, then disappeared into the room, David on his heels. The door swung shut, and that was it.

“Paps!” Lorna finally brought out. “Did you see that?”

“… He’s a telekinetic, yes. So what?” It was time to start setting up themselves as well, so Erik started unpacking their clothes and other necessities.

“He’s _cool_ , Paps!” Pietro stared at him incredulously. “That’s what!”

Behind his back, Anya and Wanda sighed collectively. Erik nearly joined in.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

Around dinner time, Charles took David to the lobby where Angel was already waiting for them. The Lehnsherrs were nowhere to be seen, but nonetheless Charles decided to not get his hopes up. After all that had gone wrong, there was still so much more to be screwed up.

And indeed, when they were led through a hallway decorated with cheesy hieroglyph prints and out of an oriental doorway onto the seaside terrace (with fairy lights glittering in the dark and an open-air kitchen, they really had gone all in), they got a glimpse of green hair at a table right near the promenade dividing the _Seaside Pearl_ from its private square-of-sand-which-wasn’t-a-beach-and-therefore-wheelchair-accessible. Angel turned to them, smile glued on but genuine.

“This is where both breakfast and dinner is served. If you want room service, just call the reception, and for lunch there are loads of excellent restaurants dispersed around town. Now, let me show you to your table.” And she went to tread between the chairs, directly homing in on where the Lehnsherrs were seated.

Charles groaned under his breath. Of course, technically they had booked together, so Angel would assume they eat together as well.

 _You coming, Dad?_ David, already following the hotel employee, shot him a confused look over his shoulder.

Charles gripped his wheels. _Sure, pumpkin._

Angel was chatting up Lehnsherr when he arrived, explaining that “we only got round tables because it makes people feel more included, and since we sometimes have to seat complete strangers together we thought that would be a good idea, and it _indeed is_ ”, but what really caught his attention were four other guests perched on the same roundel of mahogany wood. Two women – clearly in a relationship, judging from the way their minds lit up when their eyes met –, two children, and at least two of them mutants. One woman was beautiful, stunning in a way Charles had never seen, with indigo skin and ember hair, eyes like the shimmering yellow of a lighthouse in the distance. The boy sitting to her right, from the same sublime beauty, had to be her son, except that his hands looked… strange. And he had a tail, swishing back and forth like that of a cat.

Then the blue mutant’s partner met his eyes, except that hers were layered upon with shades of grey. Blind. She was blind. And still she seemed to study him like an insect under a microscope, lips curling finely.

David’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Can I sit next to you?” He had asked Lehnsherr’s youngest, _Lorna_ , Charles thought, and held his breath.

“Of course! What’s your power? Can you lift metal like me?”

He sighed, relieved. Just for a moment, David’s fear of a rebuttal had sprung over to him, but unlike her father, Lorna seemed quite… nice. He rolled into place at the table, and only too late did he notice that he was now positioned directly opposite Lehnsherr, in full exposure of the man’s death glare.

Sweetly, he smiled and received a frown for his efforts. What a charming man, really.

“Good evening,” came a voice like velvet to his left, and he looked up and met the mutant woman’s eyes. “I’m Raven Darkholme, and this is my family.” She ruffled the blue boy’s midnight hair and smiled.

Charles extended a hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Charles Xavier, and this is my son David. And your name is...” He turned to Raven’s son.

“Kurt.” Spiky teeth, shimmering like pearls, were revealed, and now Charles saw what was odd about the mutants hands: he only had one thumb and two fingers. “Nice t’meet you, too.”

They then proceeded to shake hands, and Charles learned that Raven was here with Irene – her wife, who was a precognitive and therefore had decided that she was as good as any seeing person – and their daughter Anna Marie – a mutation-absorbing mutant, adopted since three months and, as the yellow thoughts emanating from her told Charles, jealous of Kurt, the Lehnsherrs and just anyone who seemed to have functioning family bonds – and of course, her blue, teleporting son from an earlier relationship.

He smiled at her and complimented her pretty gloves, and she lit up with a hibiscus red. Ah. Not too long, and those holidays (two weeks for the Adler-Darkholmes as well) would either result in a temper tantrum or in a seamless integration or both. She had a character, that girl, and was easily swayed.

The rest of dinner passed with mundane conversation about this and that, plans, the weather, the work at home. It turned out that the Adler-Darkholmes lived in New York, just like them, but had arrived the day before already. Charles even exchanged some sentences with Erik, though it was mostly about who would use the bathroom at what time and how long (Raven and Irene were shooting them strange looks, clearly confused as to whether they were a couple or not), but it was pleasant enough. The only incident was when Anya nearly threw her plate across the table because “there’s chicken on it, I can’t eat it, I won’t!!!”

It turned out that she was a zoopath, and that Ratatouille was more than just a pet, but a friend, a member of family. Of course, eating any animal was out of the question, and Angel relied it to Sean, the _Seaside Pearl_ ’s cook, promptly.

They didn’t stay up long afterwards. All seven of them were tired and just wanted to crawl into bed and never get up again, so they returned to their suite to do just that (with a healthy dose of awkwardness, considering all of them still had to use the bathroom).

David was the first to fall asleep, at Charles’ side in the enormous double bed they were sharing. He hadn’t even read another chapter from his book, just closed his eyes and bonked out. Charles smiled and drew the covers up to his son’s chin. At that very moment, he felt uncannily lucky.

The drag of the others’ sleepiness, over in the other room, soon tipped him over the edge as well. And just before darkness and dream engulfed him, Charles looked back on the first meal they had shared with the Lehnsherrs, on Erik’s smiles when he thought no one was looking, and conceded that maybe, _maybe_ , these holidays wouldn’t be so awful after all.

In the morning, Erik woke to found Lorna curled close on his chest. In the other double bed to his right, Wanda and Pietro were snoring away peacefully still, and in a meager ray slipping in between the curtains shutting out the view onto the sea, he could see Anya perched on the bed sofa, Ratatouille in her lap, scrolling through her smartphone.

He sighed. Already, the memories of the journey were beginning to fade, he had been so tired. After all, they had been awake for more than twenty-four full hours.

Oddly enough, one glimpse he couldn’t seem to get rid of was Xavier’s face over the dinner table, always a smile on his lips, so uncharacteristically nice. He had even asked about Lorna’s favorite book series, and Pietro what he wanted to do when he was big (his boy was still undecided between astronaut and working in a nursery, because he had liked Lorna more when she was little). What a strange man.

They rose for breakfast at eight, the sun tinting the water golden. From the Xaviers’ bedroom, only light snoring pierced the stagnant air, and soon, tiptoeing around suitcases and clothes strewn about, they made their way out of the suite and down to the terrace, where Sean was already standing to attention, serving other guests omelets and pancakes. The kids, of course, were delighted. Erik pretended to look away when they raided the buffet of sweet and oily and totally unhealthy stuff (just for this once) and got himself a coffee.

The view over the water was breath-taking. For a heartbeat or two, Erik just sat at their table, deserted since his brood was still piling everything they could get on their plates and the Adler-Darkholmes didn’t seem to enjoy sleeping in, and breathed in the air. Fresh, salty sea air. He smiled.

If only Magda could be here with them.

No. _Happy thoughts_. He shook his head.

Anya dropped in the chair beside him.

“Hey Paps. Alles okay?” _(Hey dad. Everything alright?)_

He turned to give her a reassuring smile. “Alles gut, Spätzchen.” _(Everything’s fine, little sparrow.)_

She grinned and started wolfing down her waffles with syrup. Soon, the twins and Lorna joined them, a pack of starving wolves from the sounds of their attack on their breakfast. On the other tables, heads turned, but Erik stared them down until they returned to their own meals. It was too good a holiday to let it be spoiled by oversensitive white Europeans only looking for a tan.

“Paaaps.” It was Lorna, making puppy eyes at him. “Wann gehen wir tauchen?” _(When are we going scuba diving?)_

He raised one eyebrow. “Bist du schon nicht mehr müde?” _(You’re not tired anymore already?)_

“Doch.” A pout. _(Yes.)_

“Siehst du.” With a tendril of his powers, he reached out and nudged her fork in her fingers. “Heute machen wir einen faulen Tag, und _Morgen_ können wir an der Reception nach einem Tauchkurs fragen, ja?” _(See? - Today we’re having a lazy day, and tomorrow we can ask for a scuba diving course at the reception, yes?)_

“Super!” Pietro chimed in, tapping his feet at super-speed and making the wooden planks underneath vibrate. “Vielleicht kommt David auch!” _(Maybe David will come, too!)_

“Oh, ja!” Wanda looked up from her pancakes and grinned, and even Anya nodded approvingly.

Erik forced a smile. The Xavier boy was a nice kid, sure, but his father… True, Charles Xavier was an attractive man, and last night, their eyes had met every now and then over the dinner table, and there was something in them that made longing twist in his chest, almost similar to what Magda’s gaze would have made him experience. Only Xavier wasn’t Magda. He could never be.

And on top of that, he was an uncouth asshole.

Ignoring Wanda’s stare (verdammt, he had to be more careful with his mental shielding), he nodded.

“Natürlich. Wir werden sehen.” _(Of course. We’ll see.)_

Charles sighed happily. The sun was shining, his beach chair’s back rest was at just the right angle for him to lie comfortably, and he had nothing to do, nothing at all.

Well, technically he had brought some work with him, the odd essay and paper to be graded, but he would get to that the following day. He was far too tired to not mess up anything, anyway, and there was an intriguing book on his laps, on the educational systems devised for mutants and how it differed from the traditional, human-oriented methods.

A whisper, a tugging at the edge of his consciousness made him lift his eyes from his reading material and to the promenade just a few feet from his deck chair, which he hadn’t cared to right after transferring onto it from his wheelchair. He was now facing the small stone wall separating the hotel’s private strip of glorified sand from the sidewalk, body on full display and only clad in swimming trunks.

It was a couple which had roused his attention. Hand in hand, the two tanned humans strolled, and the girl had pushed down her sunglasses over her nose to peer at Charles intently, or rather, at his legs. Her partner was trying to drag her along, but succeeding far too slowly for his tastes, and for Charles’ tastes, too.

He was used to getting stared at, especially in situations where hiding his skinny, horribly atrophied legs under layers of tweed and socks was impossible. He wasn’t ashamed of his disability, why should he be? He was as worthy a human being as anyone else. But he just wished people could be more sensitive than this.

Finally, the man succeeded in maneuvering his partner away, shooting Charles an apologetic look. Charles nodded, then returned to his book.

Behind his eyelids, though, he didn’t see the letters laid out before him. He saw the day his legs had been taken from him.

The sky had been clouded over since dawn, and he had in the mansion’s garden, studying caterpillars under his magnifying glass, watching their undulating movements with rapt attention. He had been so absorbed in his observations that he had only felt Cain approach when his step-brother had been but a few feet away, hollering, panting, not changing directions. Charles hadn’t had the slightest chance of getting up from his cowering position on the edge of a flower patch, or of moving away.

His back had paid for it. A knee in the lower end of his spine, just above his hip, too much force, not even a thought of holding back. It had hurt like hell, and then not anymore.

“Dad.”

His head shot up so fast he winced, he couldn’t help it.

“Yes, David? Are you alright?”

His son nodded and grinned, book clutched close to his chest. “Dad, can you read to me? My eyes are all weird, I think they’re still tired.”

Mimicking his son’s smile, Charles scooted over and patted the space beside him while reaching for the book. “Sure. But I’m not very good at it, you know that.”

“I don’t care.” A wide yawn, then David settled down against Charles’ side, his unruly hair tickling his father under the chin.

“Alright. You left it here...” A mental nudge guided him to the right paragraph, and he drew in a breath of air, then halted. “By the way, what’s it about?”

Groaning, his son mumbled, “Daaad, why do you always have to be so complicated?” When he didn’t get an answer, he huffed. “It’s about cool things. Like, with monsters and all, and a boy who is a sky ship captain and is always trying to find his father, but in the end he doesn’t because his dad dies.”

“He… dies?”

There was blood rushing in Charles’ ears, and the feeling that he had missed something, something big, began building up in his forehead.

“Yeah, he does. But Twig is his son so he inherits his ship!”

“That’s...” Charles massaged the ridge of his nose. “That’s cool. Yeah. Now, shall I read?”

He more felt than saw the enthusiastic nodding of his son, and then he felt David’s eyelashes brush his bare arms as the boy closed his eyes, ready to be lulled to sleep by his voice. Oh, the journey yesterday had been so exhausting, and the jet lag… Charles must be overthinking David’s book choices.

So, he began to read, in a low, velvety voice.

“The young captain stared ahead into the great open void. The Stormchaser, his father’s sky pirate ship was out there somewhere, deeper in open sky than any sky ship had ever sailed before, and he would find it, whatever it took...”

A sigh, and he read on. A gentle breeze was stirring his hair, it smelled of salt and sunscreen, the Adler-Darkholmes were just installing themselves only a few deck chairs away from them. And from the far end of the hotel’s jetty, leading over the shallow roof of the reef to the open sea, children’s screams floated over as they descended down into the cool water, goggles and snorkles ready. Familiar minds were out there, and he thought he could glimpse a shock of silver and green.

However hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice, and for that little time, his stick-like legs and the heavy clouds on that one fateful day oozed out of inner eye and back into the dark, dusty corners they had come from.

At his side, David sighed. It was a happy sound.

Erik could have kicked himself.

His face felt hot, burning even under the covers which he had drawn all up to his nose as he stared aimlessly into the darkness. He had made such a fool out of himself, such a damned clown at dinner. Sighing, he turned over, carefully as to not wake Lorna slumbering beside him.

Verdammt, he had to calm down. He couldn’t wake Wanda with his emotional turmoil again, he had sworn this to himself the last half an hour he had lain awake, in their dark hotel room, one day of their holiday already passed.

Still, he was such an idiot.

But let’s start at the beginning: They had spent a dream-like day on the _Seaside Pearl_ ’s jetty, swimming, snorkling, testing out the waters, only emerging from the waves to go grab a fast lunch at one of the promenade’s restaurants. It had been an excellent first day. The kids had laughed a lot, and so had Erik, and it couldn’t have been more perfect.

Then, dinner had come. And beside the Adler-Darkholmes, the Xaviers had sat at their shared dinner table. There also hadn’t been another free table in sight, even though Angel had complained about business going badly, and so they – or rather Erik, his brood didn’t seem to mind at all – had been obliged to sit there, at the side of the two telepaths. Skin still itching from the salt water they hadn’t got the chance to wash off yet, Erik begrudgingly had taken a seat, as far away from Xavier as possible (even though right opposite the man, _again_ ).

At first, conversation had been awkward. Until Raven and Irene had started an offensive and begun to bombard both Erik and Xavier with questions, prompting the kids to weigh in their own two pennies’ worth every now and then, and it had been great. They had talked so much it could have filled book upon book, about work, about family, about housing, about such random things as the last time they had cried over a movie or had a complete stranger smile at them on the way to work. It had turned out that both Raven and Irene were excellent small-talkers, making even someone as asocial as Erik feel at ease in their own skin.

All the time, Erik hadn’t exchanged a word with Xavier, and the dislike obviously was mutual.

Then, Erik’s downfall had come. Xavier had made a joke.

Slightly tipsy already, the man with blue eyes ( _yes, okay_ , Erik had to admit they were a sight to behold) had leaned forward, stapled his fingers under his chin – at his side, looking up from his evaluation of the hotel’s food with Lorna, David had sheepishly grimaced at everyone else, conscious of what was to come – and cleared his throat.

“Well, speaking about my position as a university lecturer, may I tell a joke?”

Pietro and Wanda had shrieked, and even Anya had nodded enthusiastically (which was a big concession of appreciation, coming from her). Irene had been the only one to mutter a “Dear God,” but she had smiled, even when Raven had elbowed her in the ribs playfully.

“Alright.” Xavier had leaned forward, and for a moment, Erik had been afraid he would fall face-down into his plate, but it had just been supposed to be a tool of building up anticipation. “Alright. Well, what does a biology professor ask his students?”

No one around the table uttered a word. All eyes were on the sky-eyed man.

Xavier smiled. “’Do I have your divided attention?’”

No one laughed. Only David let out a low sigh full of embarrassment.

Smile widening into a smirk, Xavier leaned back in his seat and whined jokingly, “Why, does not one of you know one of the _most fundamental processes_ in cell replication? Mitosis? Where a cell separates itself into two?”

To his shame, Erik had been the first to chuckle (almost instantly, he had wished for the ground to swallow him whole because h _ad he just seriously, genuinely laughed at this uncouth man’s terrible joke?_ ). Only a fraction of a second later, though, the others had joined in, laughing more at the man than at the joke itself, but that hadn’t seemed to disturb Xavier at all. He had just smiled and grinned and continued droning on about his research, his lectures and whatever it was genetics professors droned on about.

But just before that, he had looked at Erik, really looked at him, met his eyes, smile going a bit softer around the edges. And if that hadn’t been a slight, almost unnoticeable blush on his cheeks, Erik would gnaw his own leg off.

The worst thing, though, was that he hadn’t been able to contain himself. No. He had smiled back, like a fool. And Xavier had seen it.

Erik groaned and considered banging his head against the bed’s head bord, then for the sake of the kids, discarded the idea. In his gut, an emotion simmered, a feeling he couldn’t identify, not for the life of him. He only knew it was connected to Xavier, to their eyes meeting in a manner they shouldn’t meet, to the whole concept of the man himself.

Oh no, Erik didn’t have any plans of falling in love, especially not with the rude telepath. He simply didn’t need it in his life right now. And still, he couldn’t help mulling all their meetings over in his head, the words they had exchanged, the glances, the scowls.

Stifling a grunt, he tossed and turned again. It would be a long night.

“You should at least try, Charles.” Irene leaned over in her deck chair to tuck a strand of hair behind Raven’s ear, moving with the elegance of a sleep-walker. It was fascinating, the way her powers worked, and even for Charles, it was nearly incomprehensible. She had mere milliseconds to decide about her actions, and in this little span of time, millions of possible outcomes flashed across her inner eye, enlightening the darkness, making her see in a way her eyes couldn’t.

He sighed, attention returning to the situation on hand. “Are you sure? I don’t think he likes me very much, and even though Lorna in particular seems to have taken a liking to David, I can’t imagine him accepting to take responsibility of a child which isn’t his.”

“But,” Raven chimed in, turning her head from where she was keeping an eye on Anna Marie and Kurt treading on the reef’s roof in the shallow water, “his children are old enough to take on responsibility. He wouldn’t have to do anything, and as long as it’s for the good of your boy, I’m sure he will accept.”

Irene nodded, took a sip of her water bottle and pushed up her sunglasses to stare at Charles with those clouded-over eyes. “And I know what I’m talking about, believe me.”

Rubbing the heels of his hands over his unfeeling thighs nervously, he opened his mouth to reply, but a consciousness fading into the range of his telepathy stopped him. He turned. From the direction of the wooden jetty, Anya, Erik’s eldest, was walking towards him, googles, snorkel and fins in hand, hair still dripping wet. She was a pretty young woman, from the same lean build as her father, with deep brown hairs and eyes that had to have come from her mother, though. Ratatouille was perched on her shoulter, looking like a drowned rat (the irony), on that tanned skin Charles envied the Haller-Lehnsherrs for. With their complexion, a stark contrast to his pale one, they probably never got sunburn.

He glanced down at his own legs and torso, shimmering with sunscreen even under the shade of the parasol. Yep, he _definitely_ envied them.

Then, Anya was standing in front of his beach chair, staring at him with those deep, unmovable eyes. She tried a smile. Just like with her father, it looked slightly off, but genuine. “Hello there.”

Charles smiled back. “Good afternoon, Anya. How can I help you?”

She shuffled her feet, coating them in sand that stuck to her gleaming wet skin. “Well, I wanted to ask you a thing… about your son, David. He says he can’t get into the diving course because you can’t be his dive buddy, right?”

Ah. Unpleasant business, then. He nodded. “Well, yes. Unfortunately, my disability keeps me from scuba diving. But now that you ask, I was just talking to Irene and Raven about this… hindrance.” The women in question had in the meantime returned to their books after giving Anya a quick wave. They didn’t seem to make any move to assist Charles in his appeal. “You talked about taking a trial dive last night at dinner, so I thought about asking your father a favour. I noticed your family has an odd number of members...”

Realisation dawned on the girl’s face. “Oh. Yes. Actually, I was thinking about not taking the course, because it will be really loud for me under water-” She gestured to Ratatouille- “with all the fish communicating and such, but David went swimming today and he looked so sad at not being able to get down further, so I asked him if he wanted to do it with him, because Paps is going with Lorna already and Wanda with Pietro. If that’s okay for you.”

“That would be brilliant!” Charles grinned, then felt his face fall. “Well, only if your father doesn’t mind, of course.”

“Why would he?” Confusion flitted over her face. “It’s not like he hates you, and I’m nineteen, I’m old enough to decide on my own.”

Quirking his eyebrows, Charles smirked. “He doesn’t dislike me? Well, that’s news to me. But thank you, I’m sure David will be delighted! Guess I’ll take him to sign up this afternoon. When would the course be?”

“Tomorrow.” Anya pointed to the vacant deck chair at Charles’ side, smiling conspiratorially. “May I sit so we can discuss it further?”

“Sure!” He sat up straighter, felt hope bubble in the pit of his stomach, and looked out across the waves, gaze sliding past Anna Marie and Kurt to settle on the small figure of his son, dangling his legs from the jetty, the girl with green hair at his side. “I’m sure David will love it.”

The days passed, as did Christmas Eve and the first dates of Hanukkah, and Erik kept running into Xavier far too many times for his taste.

Just the day before, the man had rolled into the room containing the hotel’s diving gear – neoprene suits, mouthpieces, air tanks and all – with his odd-eyed son in tow, and Erik had nearly had a heart attack at the prospect of having to go take his first ever dive with him, and then maybe even pair up with him. Luckily, it turned out that only the boy would be joining them, because Anya had lured in the poor thing, and Xavier was just there to make sure his son wouldn’t collapse under the weight of the equipment. Because if David did, he could right scratch the dream of seeing the waves from beneath at the young age of twelve.

And now, they had been been strolling along the promenade after dinner, under the sidewalk’s honey-gold lights, wrapped up in their fleeces against the cool night air and looking into the display windows of the various bureaus offering one-day excursion to the Saint Catherine’s Monastery or spectacular diving spots. Behind Erik’s back, the kids had collectively decided that they didn’t want to sit around the hotel for the whole of their holiday, but that they wanted to get out. As a loving father, of course, he had no choice but to fulfill their wish.

They had just set their eyes on a particular organization (which even had a small model of the Sinai peninsula in a glass case on their counter, with tiny houses and all) when the door to just that shop opened and David strolled in, holding the door open for his father.

Suddenly, the urge to dive behind the counter rose in Erik’s guts (a not so good decision, considering there was the owner sitting behind it and chewing rather grimly on an unlit cigar), but he remained standing, scowling at Xavier as this smiled pleasingly at everyone. The man was an enigma to him, made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Why did he have to choose the same travel organization as them? Was he – as implausible and utterly ridiculous this sounded – _stalking_ Erik?

“Good evening everyone,” the velvety tone of Xavier’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “fancy seeing you here! Angel recommended this place for us, since we want to do some sight-seeing.”

The man behind the counter – squat, almost shorter than Lorna but with bulging packages of muscles everywhere and a skeleton that felt really weird to Erik, almost as if the guy was the Terminator himself – grunted. “Hello there. Guess Laura’s been doing some covert advertising again, huh?”

Laura. Their bus driver, and she had had the same anomaly beneath her skin, only Erik had been too tired to pay much attention to it.

He cut to the chase without much ado. “Laura’s your daughter?”

“She is.” A smile, proud, then the man’s face returned to business-like. “Now, how can I help you? I’m Logan, by the way.”

“Well...” Xavier began just as Erik started to say, “We wanted-”

They broke off to stare at each other in silence. Finally, Charles gestured to Erik. “Go ahead.”

“Good.” Erik turned his attention back on Logan, who was currently combing back his hair with his hands. “We thought about doing two trips, one with the snorkeling highlights and the other one to see some of the nature around here.”

“’Nature ‘round here’?” The guy smirked. “All dust and dry bones, if you don’t count the occasional mangrove forest or nice rock formation. But I got a better idea: you guys combine the swimming trip with seeing some nice rare greenery, all in one day, and spend the money for the other day on the Saint Catherine’s Monastery instead. Nice historical site, where Moses received God’s message from a burning thorn bush and all that stuff.”

“Hey,” David perked up, “that’s just where Dad and I wanted to go, too.”

Ah. Oh no. Please no.

But Erik was powerless. Lorna had already risen to the bait. “Oooh, Paps, please, can we go with them? That would be sooo cool!” And the others were nodding along, damn them.

“The next trip would be on the twenty-seventh, day after tomorrow.” Bending down, Logan was already hauling a folder of catalogs, maps and itineraries onto his desk. “How’s that sound?”

“Oh.” Charles shot David a glance, then turned to smile at Logan (far too broadly for Erik’s taste, but hey, who was he to judge, he just hoped they wouldn’t start to suck off each other’s faces right in front of his kids’ eyes when they hit it off). “That would be perfect.”

Erik just so refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose, but Wanda was insistently tugging at his sleeve, and Anya was staring at him as though she knew something he did not. “Alright then. We’ll go.”

Lorna cheered, and Pietro gave David a high five. And through all the tumult, Erik could see Charles flash him a smile, a gentle one, a secret one, before the sky-eyed man turned away to talk to the tour organizer again.

Verdammt.

The trip to the Monastery had been… nice. Nothing special, of course, but nice nonetheless.

Charles reclined in his wheelchair and blew on his steaming tea, watching the conversation over dinner on his table without interfering. The children, still in high spirits from their excursion, were chattering on about their climb of the so called God-Trodden Mount Sinai in the afternoon heat to Anne Marie, about the ancient scrolls which had been laid out in the museum, the delicious lemonade they had drunk at a café’s cheap plastic table in the middle of the ancient Sacred Monastery, where monks had prayed and lived and died for centuries. Erik was busy explaining his work to Kurt, talking about the competitions for the most originally designed necklace he occasionally took part in, whilst Irene was whispering into Raven’s ear, things Charles had no intention of overhearing.

It had been a good day. There was only one problem: Charles was becoming to comfortable around Erik’s children, almost treating them as though they were his own, joking with them, comforting them when he felt their joy dwindle. But they weren’t _his_ kids. Not his family, as much as he would have liked them to be. And considering his abilities as a father, they probably were lucky.

An involuntary sigh heaved its way out of his chest, and he shot Anne Marie a calming smile when she looked up at him, worry written all over her face. What he pointedly ignored, though, was Erik Lehnsherr’s gaze drilling into the side of his skull, impossible to determine whether it was filled with sympathy or discontent.

Wanda was elbowing Pietro in the ribs. “Shut up, or he won’t let us go!”

“Bullshit.” The silver-haired trouble-maker elbowed her back, then turned to his father who was just exchanging the onion rings on Anya’s plate with olives (the Lehnsherrs had interesting tastes in food, as Charles had found out over the course of the last half a week) and asked, “Paps, it’s okay if David and Kurt and Anna Maire join us, right? When we go look at those special diving places.”

Charles held his breath. Lehnsherr smiled softly at his son and, despite the boy’s protests, ruffled his hair. “Sure, Kätzchen. Aber- But we have to ask their parents first, yes?”

“No speaking German when we’re around strangers, Papa,” Lorna chimed in, showing all her teeth in a wide, satisfied smile.

Rolling his eyes mockingly, Erik replied, “Sag mir nicht was ich tun soll, junge Dame.” But his heart was fond, of this Charles was sure when he skated along the man’s consciousness, all warm, pliable steel. _(Don’t tell me what to do, young lady.)_

“We’ve always wanted to see mangroves, haven’t we?” Raven nodded when Irene spoke up. “Or well, they want to see it, since I can’t really, but I’d love to get out of this town for a day or so.”

Swiftly, Charles joined in, well aware of David’s puppy eyes. “We wouldn’t object to some fresh air either, I just need someone to look over David if he wants to go take a swim.”

Already Anya was raising her hand, and Erik was nodding solemnly, avoiding Charles’ eyes. “Alright then.”

“Perfect!” Raven clapped her scaly hands, smiling when even Anna Marie stopped scowling for a minute. “We can go book it tomorrow then, all of us together!”

After that, dinner didn’t sprout any new plans, but when Angel came over to get their plates (the _Seaside Pearl_ was so small a hotel that its employees took more than just one function) all the kids glanced at each other conspiratorially, then turned to their parents and, with one voice, asked, “Can we go to the beach?”

Even Raven and Irene stopped short. “What do you mean?” Erik asked, and Charles couldn’t help remarking, “But it’s dark already.”

“But that’s just the funny thing!” Lorna took on the responsibility to argue their case. “Also, the water’s low, so Charles can come too, and we’ve never seen a beach by night!”

Irene shrugged, Erik glanced at Raven who in turn quirked an eyebrow at Charles.

“Okay,” he finally concluded when the silence grew too long, “I guess it won’t hurt no one, now will it?” And he looked at Erik, who nodded slowly.

Like a procession of monks (very excited monks, with rather unusual hair colours), they made their way down to the square of sand raised some feet above sea-level and limited by a wall of coral stone, the waves lapping idly at the reef roof some distance out. The sea was indeed low and had given way to a narrow strip of sand, perfect to stand on and gaze into the shallow water, to search for night time sea life with their phone’s flashlight.

The children clambered down, the adults not far behind. Only Charles stayed up on the mural wall, wheeling as close to the edge as he thought was safe. David’s telekinesis was yet too weak for him to support his father in his wheelchair, he didn’t want to risk his son straining his powers. So, he would wait and watch from afar.

Only Lehnsherr’s children seemed to have other plans.

“Papa, could you hover Charles down, too, please?” Wanda spoke as she took her father’s hand and dragged him over to where Charles had positioned himself.

“Wanda, I don’t think- this really isn’t necessary-” Charles was flustered, and incredibly embarrassed. Once again, he cursed his legs, cursed them for not letting him move around like a normal person.

But the young mutant had none of it. Her father’s expression, cold and closed off like stone, wasn’t a match for her. “Please, Paps, and you needn’t worry, Charles, Papa is _strong_.”

“I wanna be as good with my powers as him one day,” Lorna randomly chimed in, then returned to scouring the small waves with her flashlight.

“Uh,” Charles remarked intelligently.

Lehnsherr said nothing, was avoiding his eyes.

“I think I’d rather stay up here, it’s okay. But thank you, Wanda. It was a nice idea.”

The frame of his wheelchair creaked.

“Oh, sorry,” Erik muttered, brows furrowed in concentration. “Your wheelchair is an alloy I’m not familiar with, but I have a good grip on it now. Ready?”

Oh dear, Charles could feel the blood rushing up into his cheeks. “You really don’t have to-”

“We can’t have you missing all the fun though, can we?”

Was Lehnsherr really smiling at him? Was he? Oh gosh he was.

And damn, wasn’t he a gorgeous one?

“Ah, sure, okay. Thank you.”

Still smiling (what had happened to the grumpy resting bitch face, had Lehnsherr been abducted and replaced by aliens?), Erik bowed his head, rubbed his hands, then spread his fingers as though he was conducting an invisible orchestra. “Hold on tight.” And suddenly, Charles and his wheelchair were hovering a few inches above ground, and had he not lived in a world full of mutations, he would have fainted at such witchcraft.

But instead, he whooped under his breath as he was slowly, carefully lowered down onto the stretch of sand, his wheels just barely sinking in when he finally touched ground.

At his side, Erik stood, hands still splayed out, and if Charles’ eye-sight hadn’t suddenly gone bad, the man’s cheeks were dusted with a delicate blush. And oh, the calm his mind radiated, the mental shields almost all down. Charles had never seen the man this relaxed, this care-free.

He made the connection quite easily. The man fed off the use of his powers, off the help they could provide, the joy. It was a whole new side to the cold, caustic mutant he had come to know.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said, looking up into Lehnsherr’s face.

All he got was a nod, but it wasn’t court and sharp like all the previous ones.

Also, it seemed they couldn’t stop staring into each others’ eyes. Strange.

Erik only tore away his gaze from Charles’ when Anya shouted for the kids to come over and look at a small creature floating only a few feet away in a naturally formed basin, a squid searching refuge between the blocks of coral as the children waded into the waves. Joining them to make sure none of them sliced open a leg or an arm on the sharp rocks, Lehnsherr left Charles sitting on the sand without turning back.

“Quite a man, isn’t he?”

Charles startled. Raven had appeared at his side, grinning knowingly.

“Yes, you could say he is...”

And deep in Charles’ chest, something stirred. Automatically, he clamped a hand over his heart. Oh no.

Oh no.

Erik cursed and sank his powers deeper into the metal of the minivan. Verdammt, Egypt’s roads weren’t made for sensitive behinds. Looking over at his brood, he discovered they weren’t doing any better, but at least they had half of the drive already behind them.

To distract himself from Logan’s awful driving skills, he let his mind wander back to two days ago. The evening they had decided to go look at the sea lying under the shimmer of the moon. The night Xavier had looked up at him when they had gone up to their rooms and had said, “We should declare a truce until the holidays are over, you know?”

The ability to think clearly must have left Erik then, because he had nodded and said, “Of course. It would be to the better for all of us.” And at his sides, his hands had relaxed, stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. It had felt… strange.

He craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the Xaviers and Adler-Darkholmes’ vehicle – driven by Logan’s daughter Laura – in the rear window, but a cloud of desert dust obscured the view. Huffing, he turned back around and busied himself with glaring holes into Logan’s skull until they arrived at their first destination.

The forest of mangroves was nothing too spectacular. Sure, there were trees growing in a relatively hostile environment, specialized on sweating out the sea salt through their leaves. Also, their roots above ground looked “neat”, as Pietro put it, but even the small crabs flitting between them and waving their pincers to flirt with Anya couldn’t make up for the dry, drab surroundings of the Egyptian desert.

At least the skies were blue, cloudless, and the sun warmed them as they wandered over the arid landscape. There was one thought Erik couldn’t get out of his head though: That Xavier’s eyes looked just as blue as the firmament, if not bluer.

They moved on to a fancy vantage point overlooking an abandoned coastline under which’s waters they could make out a multitude of reefs, cyan against the deep lapis lazuli of the waves further out. Once again, Erik had the honor of levitating Charles up to the top – not a particularly straining activity, he had had a good breakfast and half a lifetime of honing his powers – and slowly but surely he began to question his own sanity. Xavier was nowhere near to the sublime beauty Magda had been, he was male, with broad, muscular shoulders and a nose that was just a tad bit too big for his face, and his smile was so entirely different from hers…

Well, it wasn’t for nothing that Erik swung both ways.

But really, his staring was getting conspicuous. At lunchtime, when Logan and Laura handed around beer and lemonade and sandwiches, Pietro and Lorna were giggling and pointing at him, up until he glared at them so hard even they shut up and concentrated on their cucumber and carrot sticks with sour cream instead. Still, it did nothing to stop Erik’s eyes from wandering over to where Charles was chatting animatedly with Kurt and David, explaining to them how Anna Marie’s powers worked and why she had to wear gloves so often.

The fluttering in his chest didn’t abate, only grew when the following happened: At the foot of the boulder from which they had overlooked lay a small bay, filled with colorful corals and fish, if you believed Laura, and the kids _did_ believe the girl. So of course, Erik was obliged to accompany them into the waters, together with Raven and Anya. Irene and Charles stayed behind, though, neither of them confident in their swimming abilities (that was also when Erik noticed he had never seen Charles in the water in the first place).

The waves were lapping against his back, cool, soft, tamed by the rocks of the bay breaking them before they arrived over the reef. Beneath him, a rainbow of colors, the sound of the wind and the cries of the children dampened when he lowered his head into the water. Some feet ahead of him, he could see Anya take a dive, bubbles of air streaming out of her snorkel. He smiled around his headpiece. Sometimes, the world granted even him a moment of peace.

He had barely ended this train of thought when a scream pierced the air, and his head shot up over the water to look for the source. It was Pietro, paddling wildly towards the beach, Wanda close behind.

With wide sweeps of his arms, he started towards them. The internet had provided him with enough information to know that the Red Sea’s inhabitants were by no means harmless. Sea snakes, cone snails, sting rays, all of them creatures you should only admire from afar.

He had almost caught up with his twins when he felt something nip at his own heels. He startled, turned around, the ground only a few feet beneath him. There was nothing there.

Again, a dull pain, this time his other foot. He groaned and decided to make it out of there, and only a few seconds later, he was on dry land, pulling off his fins. Pietro and Wanda were waving the other out of the water, jumping up and down, shouting. Charles was making his way over to them, with Irene holding onto one of his wheelchair’s handles for guidance (she could manage without, but “better safe than sorry!”, as she liked to declare).

Erik drew one of his feet up to examine. At least it wasn’t bleeding, but it still stung lightly. Now he just shouldn’t panic, just breathe. It couldn’t be that bad.

“You look like you’re doing yoga,” Charles chirped when he came into hearing distance, but his smile quickly faded when he saw what Erik saw. “Oh dear, is that… a bite?”

A crescent shape, slightly red, stood out on Erik’s skin. He stared, stupefied. “I just hope it’s nothing dangerous.”

Irene shook her head. “It’s not, I can see it. You and your kids will be okay. In fact, Charles has the explanation.”

The man in question frowned up at her. “I do?”

“You’ve been reading about it just three minutes ago.” The skin around her unseeing eyes crinkled slightly before she turned to walk towards where Raven was helping untangle Anna Marie’s goggles from her hair. “Think about it.”

The drooping sun turned Xavier’s pale skin into gold as he brought a hand under his chin and thought.

“Well?” Erik dropped his foot, then decided to flop into the sand next to Charles’ wheelchair.

Sky eyes followed the trail of a water droplet over Erik’s chest (don’t blush, _don’t blush_ ). Charles hummed, then, suddenly, he perked up, “Of course! You must have swam into the breeding area of trigger fish. They have a reputation for defending their brook with everything they have, including their jaws.”

Erik grunted and brought his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them. “Great. Wonderful. I’m going to murder Logan.”

A laugh, bright and careless. “Please don’t!” And then a hand landed on his shoulder, dry, warm, soft, and when he looked up he was staring directly into Charles’ eyes, rimmed by fain laughter lines and deep, so deep. “I would very much like you to not end up in prison.”

Well, what could Erik possibly do but smile back, wide, baring all his teeth? What could he possibly do?

Oh, fuck.

Footsteps crunching on the sand drew Charles out of his concentration. He glanced up from where he was grading essays on his beach chair, smiled at the newcomer, returned to his work, stopped short and looked up again.

Erik Lehnsherr was standing there in front of him, beach towel slung over his shoulder, e-reader in one hand and awkward smile on his lips. “Good morning. Is this chair free?” He pointed at the one beside Charles.

Dazed, the spoken-to nodded. “Sure. Of course, go ahead.”

 _What_ was happening? Lehnsherr had warmed up to him over the past few days, true, but he had never actively sought him out. What was going on?

Oh well, Charles would take what he got. He just had to be careful to not stare too much, but by god, Erik probably didn’t even realise how good he looked, with his bathing shorts slung low on his ridiculously narrow hips, his slim but firm upper body, his tan-

Ah. Yeah. Actually, he should stop doing just that.

But now Erik was getting comfortable on the beach chair, bending over to smooth out the creases in the towel he had draped over it-

Ugh.

Charles cleared his throat and glued his eyes back onto the papers he had to grade. No time for ogling now.

The rustling of fabric on skin and a slight sigh announced that Lehnsherr had settled back. Out of the corner of his eyes, Charles could see him open an e-book on his device and start reading, eyes flicking back and forth over the lines.

They went on like this for five minutes, marking essays and reading respectively, until Charles couldn’t take it anymore.

“So, how are your heels today?” He looked up to the other man’s face, firmly vowing to not let his gaze wander under the line of his shoulders and promptly failing. How were even Erik’s _collar bones_ so damn spectacular?

Astoundingly, he got another slight smile and an uttered, “Quite well, thank you.”

They read on in silence after that, a slight breeze keeping the flies from pestering them, the sun rising higher and higher in the sky, until Charles just couldn’t take it anymore. Guilt had been gnawing on him for months now, and here was the perfect opportunity to set things right.

“Well,” he began, noting how Erik’s head gave a slight jerk when he spoke, “I guess I should apologise.”

“For what?” Erik put a finger between the book’s pages and closed it to focus entirely on Charles (and oh dear, speaking would become difficult until he turned away again, Charles could feel that coming).

Awkwardly reaching over to busy himself with his water bottle, Charles averted his eyes. “Uh, well. The things I said on our date, they weren’t the best things I could have said. Like...” He shook his head. Never had he lost a lover, he couldn’t even imagine how it would feel… “I just- I’m really, truly sorry.” Finally, he brought himself to meet the other man’s eyes.

With relief, he noted that there was no more judgment in them, no more barely veiled spite. “It’s not like I behaved any better.” And then, for the first time, Charles heard Erik laugh, a low chuckle, deep in his chest, but it was there. “I mean, the thing I said about telepathy… I was tired, not thinking straight. Guess I should apologize as well.”

Putting down his drink, Charles extended a hand. “Peace?”

“Sure.” Erik took it, squeezed it, his skin warm and dry.

They kept holding hands maybe for a few seconds too long, but if Erik noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Lorna ran up to them after that, excitedly showing them a crab Anya had coaxed into clambering on her hand, and Erik squealed (he really did that, what a man) when the animal decided to go for a hike on his bare chest (oh how Charles envied it at that very moment). Eventually, the culprit was transported back to sea, and they were alone again, just the two of them with the occasional passer-by strolling along the promenade or the children’s cries drifting over from the sea. Raven and Irene were looking over them this day, so they would be safe. And it was not like Charles could ever make sure David didn’t drown.

He sighed. “How do you manage to have such a good relationship with your kids?”

“Huh?” Erik looked up, confusion slowly being replaced by understanding. “Ah. Through the same tactics as you I guess?”

Charles said nothing. He didn’t have a good relationship with David. Or did he?

“Your son’s a good boy,” Erik went on, not noticing his silence. “Always talking about how hard you work and how well you can read to him and-”

Charles turned away, and he stopped talking.

The wind howled in the parasols, ruffled Charles’ hair.

“Are you alright?” Erik was leaning over to him, bracing himself on the edge of Charles’ sun lounger, making his heart flutter faster in his chest.

Finally, Charles put away his papers as well. “I guess this isn’t the time for unloading all my problems onto you.”

He almost didn’t hear Erik’s next words, for they were so faint, so delicately, fearfully whispered.

“And if it is?”

Over the past days, Erik’s mental shielding had relaxed around Charles, unconsciously or not, he didn’t know. And now the man’s hand was brushing against Charles’ thigh, and even though he had zero to none feeling there, he had to use all his strength not to gasp out loud, to let his astonishment show on his face.

This man’s colours were so different from what he had imagined them to be. His thoughts, tinted silver and grey and blue, weren’t like shards, more like molten metal, and there was relief in them, hope, just a tinge of wariness and then something Charles didn’t dare give a name to. It sent shivers down his spine, further than he thought he could still feel.

At Charles’ vehement silence, Erik sighed and withdrew his hand (it landing where it had landed, touching what it had touched, had probably been an accident, it _must_ have been). “Alright, I’ll start.” Leaning back, he cleared his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing, and dear god what Charles wanted to do to it with his tongue- “I love my children. They’re my whole life, but sometimes I just wish- I don’t blame them, for being there. But Magda died one year after Lorna was born, Anya was five and the twins barely two, and I just wish I didn’t have to leave them in the daycare center all week long.” His gaze was wandering out, across the shallow water, the sea, over to the horizon. “I would have had family…”

“What happened?” His voice was raspy, Charles noticed. Oh, the bitter pain oozing off Erik, and still there was hope at its very core.

A shrug, not nearly as indifferent as it was supposed to be. “My mother was the sweetest woman ever, and my sister Ruth always wanted me to have kids so she could be their beloved aunt. They were- Anti-Semites are bad people, especially if they have a gun and the location of a synagogue. When I found Magda, or rather, she found me-” Erik chuckled, corner of the eyes crinkling in the most endearing way- “I thought we would be together forever.”

Then, silence grew, hanging low and heavy in the air. Charles swallowed.

“That’s actually the most words I’ve ever hear you say,” he finally brought out. “My turn?”

“Your turn.” Scrutinizing him with his gaze, Erik had turned back around to him, relaxed on his beach chair like a predator lazing about in the sun.

Charles took a stuttering breath. “Alright then. Well.” He licked his lips, nervous, pretending not to notice Erik’s eyes widening slightly at the movement. “I- I think I’m a bad father.” He got a dismissive snort for that and held up a hand. “No, hear me out, please. I’m never home, I- I didn’t even know what my son’s favourite book series is, and I’m so afraid for who he’ll become in the future… My mother was an alcoholic, my step-father abusive, and I didn’t have a pleasant childhood. I’m just so afraid of repeating my parents’ mistakes with my own child.”

“You’re a psychologist, yes?” Erik blinked languidly at Charles’ nod. “Good. Then you should know that recognizing your potentially harmful behavior is the first step to eliminating it.”

Charles fell silent.

“Did I just astound you with my genius?” Erik teased and grinned, a wide curl of the lips revealing all his teeth, which was rather scary, considering he looked like a shark.

Leaning over to bat him on the arm, Charles smiled back. “Oh stop it you. It’s common knowledge that psychologist often are the most deranged members of society.”

Erik hummed, then began stroking his chin. Apparently, an idea had just come to his mind. “By the way, I’ve never seen you in the water.”

“Because I don’t swim.” Charles huffed. “Far too complicated, with my… let’s call it condition.”

“David loves snorkeling with us, it’s the closest he can come to diving.” There, Charles already wanted to intercept, stating it was not his fault that Janos, the dive instructor, had deemed his son too skinny and fragile to begin a scuba diving career yet, but the German wasn’t finished. “His father sharing those moments with him would make him more than happy, I’m sure.”

And that was the very moment Charles realised he had walked into a trap. “You-”

“What?” Erik was laughing now, lifting his hands in a parody of innocence. “It’s worth a shot, and we can start in the pool and I’ll be there-”

This time, Charles didn’t hold back when he punched the other man’s biceps. “I won’t make this easy for you.”

“Don’t worry.” A smirk, a glint of something in Erik’s eyes that would have made Charles’ knees wobbly if they hadn’t been that already. “I’m willing to pay that prize.”

In the afternoon, even after a generous lunch, Erik still felt unsteady on his legs. He had done it, he had actually dared to talk to Xavier without something even so much as resembling a murderous intent (well, not an unimaginably strenuous feat, considering he simply couldn’t find just that intent in himself anymore), and he had talked the man into taking swimming lessons from him.

Wonderful, Erik, really, nothing you could have done better.

He would have difficulties, enormous difficulties. Maybe Charles didn’t realize, but all the decades he must have spent in his manual wheelchair had procured him a muscle tone on his upper body, his shoulders, his neck, for which most men would have envied him. Or started salivating, in Erik’s case. Ah well, he had brought this upon himself, now he would have to try and survive.

By the time Charles arrived at the hotel’s small pool – barely used by the _Seaside Pearl_ ’s guests, since the sea was only a stone throw away, but still with clear water and regularly scrubbed walls – Erik had already lowered himself into the water, hissing when he found out it was cooler than anticipated. Once in the water, though, the temperature was less of an inconvenience and more of a blessing, calming his overheated nerves as Charles heaved himself out of his wheelchair and onto the edge of the pool, arranging his legs so they were dangling into the wet blue.

“It’s not deep, is it?” Just an ounce of concern in this voice, and Erik wanted nothing more than to kick the world’s metaphorical balls for inconveniencing Charles Xavier. Apparently, he would never cease to surprise himself.

He straightened up, the water barely reaching over his waist. “It isn’t, and anyhow I wouldn’t let you drown.”

An eyebrow was cocked his way. “Ah? Now that does soothe my concern.”

Wading over to Charles’ side, Erik asked, “Do you know how to swim? Just the basics, I mean?”

The spoken-to nodded. “I did a course or two when I was little, and water therapy for rehab. I would like you to stay by my side anyway, just in case.”

“Sure.” And Erik did.

It took some further coaxing until Charles actually pushed off the rim and into the water, eyes panicky already, but his shoulders – muscled, white as milk and with a myriad of freckles Erik would have liked to count with his tongue (ah yeah, just the direction his thoughts shouldn’t take) – made him hold his head over water effortlessly.

“And you tell me you’re not sure if you can do this anymore,” Erik jibed, and at the very same moment wished he had a camera to hold onto this moment, Charles floating on his back in the water, laughing, face free from worries and his metal wheelchair far away at the other end of the pool, only present when Erik actively sought its frame out with his powers.

“I’m actually quite content with this,” Charles was saying, turning so he could paddle over to Erik, moving his arms to propel himself forward like he knew what he was doing (which was most probably the case). “Thank you for dragging me into this.” He splashed some water at Erik, a mischievous glint in his eyes, but Erik didn’t respond.

Something was nagging at him. “I… I actually did some research before proposing this to you. About how swimming and even diving is good for, well, paraplegics. You don’t mind?”

“Of course I do.” Charles grinned. “I don’t like people considering my condition so they can make my life easier. But for you-” He playfully jabbed a finger at Erik, catching him between the ribs- “I might just make an exception.”

Like a jolt of electricity, exhilaration at the touch traveled down, down even into the tips of his toes. “Thank you, your highness, I feel incredibly honored.”

“As you should be.” His expression the epitome of haughtiness, Charles gripped Erik by his arm to pull himself closer, and if his eyelashes didn’t flutter shortly at the skin contact, Erik would have to question his own sanity. Of course, to telepaths, touch meant an even more intense experience of emotion, a stronger influx of thoughts and impressions. He was almost ashamed at how much he wanted to lay open, how vulnerable he wanted to make himself. But he kept most of his shielding in place. Just to be safe.

Also, the sun was slowly disappearing behind the roof of the hotel building, and it was getting cold. Charles seemed to have the same thought, because no sooner had Erik noticed the goosebumps traveling up both their arms that he said, “This was oh-so nice, Erik, but I think we should slowly but surely get out and dry-”

A gasp from the pool’s edge interrupted him, and they both whipped their heads around to see David standing there, salt crystals glittering on his skin and diving goggles in hands.

“Dad,” the boy rasped, “you’re swimming?”

Erik had the distinct feeling that this was a father-son moment only, but when he tried to distance himself from Charles, the man’s grip tightened on his biceps.

Attempting a smile, Charles nodded. “I am, David. Erik thought it would be nice if I could try it with you one day.”

“In the sea?” Like the candles in a menorah, the boy’s mismatching eyes lit up. “Like, at the reef?”

“In the sea.” Charles grinned. “At the reef. Just on a day with light swell, yes?”

“Okay. Okay!” David, usually such a timid kid, was hopping up and down, his hair flopping with him as he went.

Erik spoke up. “I will be there, just in case. And so will Raven and Irene, nothing can happen.”

The Haller-Xaviers nodded, far too excited to occupy themselves further with him as David insisted on joining them for the last few minutes before it definitely became to cold to stay in the pool. He didn’t leave them to it, though, as Charles asked him politely if he could help him dry off and get up into his wheelchair after they were finished, because he didn’t want to put too much strain on David’s blossoming telekinesis.

And if Charles Xavier blushed when Erik lifted him out of the water bridal-style, pressing their bodies clad only in swim wear closely together, well, maybe that was just a particularly vivid part of Erik’s imagination. But he treasured it anyway.

In the end, Charles regretted that he hadn’t taken the plunge into the ocean earlier.

Erik had lent him his snorkel and his diving goggles, the sun had been warm against his back and the waves salty against his lips as he had floated face-down and stared at the colourful mess sprawling across the sea floor. It was a spectacular sight, exotic fish he had only ever seen in nature documentaries flitting in and out of crevasses, corals resplendent in their coats of magenta, yellow and green, and even a small reef shark peacefully scouring its territory down in the white, almost flawless sand. Anya had jokingly introduced the animal as Erik – there was indeed a certain similarity between the human and the fish’s smile, as Charles had admitted to the human version’s dismay – and dived down, down, until she was face to face with the beast, wordlessly communicating, as it had seemed.

After that, David had dragged him further down the line of the reef, always followed by Erik, until Charles had began to feel goosebumps creep up his arms and shoulders (he didn’t even want to know how cold his toes must have been by then, floating uselessly and unfeeling behind him in the waves). Soon, they had decided to turn back.

It had been a good day, and he had only left the water when their whole found family – because that’s what they had all started to consider each other to be, even Anna Marie whose bonds with her adoptive parents and sibling had slowly but surely begun to reinforce themselves – had decided they go for lunch in a restaurant at the promenade. The sun had been shining, and there was even a slight tan creeping up on Charles’ skin, or at least that was what _he_ thought. Wanda and Lorna just kept insisting it was him getting sunburn, and even Erik didn’t contradict them, just smiled silently at their jesting.

Yes, a nice day indeed, especially in those moments when Erik had to touch him to help him up the ladder and onto the jetty. He was an extraordinary man, with a mind like a library, orderly, but well-kept and smelling of everything Charles adored.

He was falling in love. And what surprised him the most was that he didn’t even mind.

After dinner, the adults had decided to go back out onto the jetty to watch as the last slivers of daylight slowly faded from the sky. Angel had even been so generous as to sneak them a bottle of Egyptian wine and some glasses, so now they were sitting there, legs dangling off the edge (except for Charles’ since he had chosen to remain seated in his wheelchair), huddling up against each other in the cold and marveling as the sea and the sky slowly blurred and bled into each other, the dawn advancing in silence.

Back at the hotel, the children and the other guests were having a board games evening. Even Anya had stayed behind, claiming that they could miss her with the romantic couples bullshit (neither of them knew if she meant Raven and Irene or Charles and Erik), but really she probably just liked strategy and dice. Just like her father, now that Charles thought about it, and their eyes were so similar… He wondered what Magda must have looked like. A beautiful woman for sure, graceful, loving.

Would he ever be able to step out of her shadow?

Charles stopped his musing when he saw Erik frown at his glass of wine.

“You don’t like it?”

Erik gave a shrug, pursing his lips – probably an automatic action, but oh, the things it did to Charles. “I know nothing about wine, but this one seems particularly vile to me.”

“Oh dear.” Charles laughed, glancing at the Adler-Darkholmes to see they had wandered off and were quietly talking to Janos, the diving instructor, some feet down the jetty. “You shouldn’t drink it then! I can take it off you if you want.” And he leaned down, bracing his chin on his hand playfully.

He got a smile for his efforts, and then Erik’s wine glass. “Take it. At least you enjoy it.”

“Oh, thank you.” He placed his own one, already empty, on the wooden planks beside his wheel and took at sip, swishing it around his mouth with relish.

Erik only watched him, eyebrows raised.

When he had finished, Charles stared back. “What? It’s quite decent actually, you don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

“Do I?” Erik’s voice was a rumble, deep down in his chests, tinted dark like charcoal and embers.

Suddenly, Charles felt hot in his fleece jacket, even though the temperature in Egypt always dropped considerably after the sun vanished from the sky.

“I guess,” he began, slowly, probingly, “I should thank you for the swimming lessons, too. David was so happy, I’ve never seen him like this.” Carefully, he placed his second serving of wine on the wood, then bowed down low to be eye-level with the other man. He placed extra emphasis on the next two words. “ _Thank you_.”

“You’re welcome,” Erik rasped, suddenly not meeting his eyes, and oh dear, that shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

Charles was almost afraid to ask. There was something bitter, twisted radiating off Erik, leaving a tangy taste on his tongue. “Is everything alright?”

He could feel the effort it took Erik to not shake his head. “Yes.”

After that, only the quiet lapping of the waves and the fain noises drifting over from the promenade behind them punctuated the silence.

Charles was saved by Erik scooting closer until he was barely a hair’s width from Charles’ legs, and then he asked, “May I?” and for the first time actively reached out and sent a thought to Charles. It was an image, a hazy projection which made Charles’ heart flutter.

“Of course.”

And so, Erik slowly, hesitantly leaned his head against Charles’ knees, and after a minute or so he relaxed, like a cat finally having found the perfect spot on a windowsill. Gently, Charles laid a hand atop his hair, lightly buried his fingers in it, always expecting a rebuttal.

But it never came. They sat like that in companionable silence, for what felt like days and still only like a few heartbeats (and secretly, deep down, Charles wished it to be eternity, a blissful, never-ending moment), and watched as dusk turned to darkness, the pinpricks of stars lighting up the black like candles in windows far, far away.

If Charles had to describe peace, this moment would have been the perfect definition.

Erik’s heart was hammering in his chest, and he couldn’t stop rubbing his hands together. Beside him, Lorna snored, and the quiet breaths coming from all over the room told him that the rest of his brood was just as fast asleep.

He had fucked up, grandiosely even. And tomorrow, they would take the plane back to New York and he would never ever see Charles Xavier again, and it all was his own damn fault.

Quietly, a memory swam into focus, of Anya laying on a beach chair just some days ago and Ratatouille coiled around her neck. Erik had just returned from a quick swim in the sea with Charles, who had chosen to stay longer so David could show him how far down he could dive without scuba equipment. The moment he had caught a glimpse of Anya’s face, he had known something wasn’t alright.

She had looked up at him, eyes dark and troubled. “Papa?”

When Magda died, she had been a toddler of five years only, but old enough already to remember snippets of her mother. Her scent, her smile, her voice when she was happy.

Erik had nodded. “Ja, mein Stern? Was ist?” _(Yes, my star? What is it?)_

Guilt clear as day in her pinched lips, she had muttered, “Charles ist so anders als Mama.” _(Charles is so different from mum.)_

Now, this was nothing new. From all the lovers Erik had taken – or tried to take – after his wife’s death, not one had been able to fill the gap Magda had left. They just weren’t… _her_.

It was nothing different with Charles. He was haughty where Magda had been down to earth, he was insensitive where Magda would have had the best words of comfort and encouragement ready, and he was soft and pliant where Magda would have been insistent, stubborn like a mule. He was nothing like her.

It felt right though.

“Ach, vergiss es, Papa,” Anya had chirped after watching a myriad of emotions flicker over Erik’s face, “I like him, we all like him and you should keep-” _(Oh, forget it, dad.)_

He hadn’t heard the rest because he had turned away to hurry to their hotel suite, abandoned at this time of the day, and take a long, hot shower. And usually, this method would have worked if he had to think.

Except that this time, it hadn’t, and he had reemerged for dinner none the wiser.

When he felt the fresher, rawer memory of this evening approach, he gripped his blanket tightly, knuckles a stark white against the blackness of the room. He was such an idiot.

After dinner this night, Charles had asked him to follow him to the beach.

There had been candlelight, a stimulating discussion about discrimination of mutants at the workplace and the ensuing segregation of baselines and their evolved version, and a perfectly cooled German beer (somehow in their countless conversations, Charles must have wheedled the information out of Erik without him noticing, or maybe he had bribed the children, the man was capable of everything after all). It had been so obviously set up, probably with the help of Angel and Sean, maybe even Laura, since not a soul showed on the beach as long as they were there, but Erik had come to know Charles as a man who didn’t leave anything to chance. And it was the perfect date after all. They talked, they drank, they laughed and, most important of all, stared into each others’ eyes and onto each others’ lips like it was the last night of their live.

Then, things started to go wrong.

Charles had been edging closer and closer over the course of their banter, casually touching Erik’s knee or laying a hand on his forearm, and every time he licked his lips, Erik saw the intention to rile him up lurk behind those blue, blue eyes. And it was not that Erik didn’t like it. He craved it very much, even.

But at the back of his head, there had always been Anya’s remark, and the frayed picture of Magda he carried around in his wallet and took out every so often to look at it. And finally, Charles had leaned in, voice coarse and rich, had uttered apology over apology (their horrendous blind date, the impersonal approach at the library, the abrupt invasion of Erik’s workplace…), and Erik had gravitated nearer like a galaxy drawn into a black hole, their lips had brushed…

Stubble had dragged against stubble, as had their minds. Sounds, smells, emotions, flaring like northern lights in Erik’s head, their powers mingling to form worlds beyond their comprehension. _Charles_. His lips were soft, like petals. Just like Erik had imagined them to be-

 _Magda_. And the insurmountable chasm between her and Charles.

Erik had had to draw back, lean away and cover his eyes with his hands. Charles’ sharp intake of breath rang like the toll of church bells in his mind, and he felt a flush spread over his face, up to the roots of his hair. He swallowed.

“I’m sorry, Charles, I- I can’t, just can’t-”

He had expected anger, resentment, maybe some blows below the belt. But all that had spoken from Charles’ voice when he said, “Erik, it’s not your fault. I should have seen this coming.” had been a bone-deep weariness.

Already disappointment had begun to coil in his guts, making his insides bubble, and he had straightened up and reached out, words of apology on his lips, and that maybe they could start all over again. Because who knew, it was possible that in time he would see some of Magda in Charles, and there wouldn’t be that nagging guilt eating away at him about living when she could not, not anymore, and Charles-

Charles had already been turning his wheelchair around, maneuvering towards the _Seaside Pearl_ ’s veranda. His mind’s warmth was gone from Erik’s, and the distance between them, oh, how it hurt. Even when he had reached out, wrapped his metal sense around that chair’s skeleton and had tugged, carefully, Erik hadn’t elicited a response, he had even got up, made a few steps towards the man he could have loved… did love…

And Charles hadn’t even turned to look at him as he had uttered, “I just wish you hadn’t gotten my hopes up.” And then Erik had been alone, on that square of sand which pretended to be a beach but really was just a stage, where people thought they knew each other.

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. Their suitcases stood packed in the middle of the room, he could feel Charles’ wheelchair behind the door only a few feet away, and there was iron coursing through six hot bodies around him. Shivering, he reached for his phone on the bedside table. It was well past midnight already.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow only, and it would all be over.

Except that he didn’t want it to be over, if only he could-

_Erik?_

His heart felt like it would leap out of his throat any moment now. _Yes?_ Hope, there was still hope.

 _Please, go to sleep. There’s no use in beating yourself up over this, and you’re keeping both David and me awake_. Then, Charles’ presence vanished, neatly picked from his thoughts, and Erik ground his teeth together.

Good. If Charles didn’t want to talk this out, then neither would he. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave kudos and comments if you feel like it, that would make my day <3


	3. Home Sweet Home

A key creaked in the lock to the Haller-Xaviers’ flat, and Moira pushed back her chair.

“Let me help you with the plates,” she said and smiled when David and Darwin ventured into the room, hair soaked and glittering with melting snow. “You better make these two some hot chocolate, they look like they need it.”

“Coffee for me, please,” Darwin corrected and took David’s hands between his, rubbing them. “Poor boy, your mutation doesn’t really help with the cold, does it?”

Charles handed the last of the dirty cutlery to Moira and wheeled into the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine and heat some milk on the stove. “Coffee it is. Moira, darling, do you want some tea? Oh, and David, how was the zoo?”

Moira nodded, and David smiled widely, cheeks and tip of the nose red from the cold. “It was great! Lorna and I did hide-and-seek, and Anya spoke to the ice bears and said they’re happy now! Dad, dad, the next time you have to come with me, please!”

Sighing, Charles poured the steaming milk into a mug, stirring some cacao powder into it and handing it to David, who took it with greedy hands. “You know I’d love to, jelly bean, but… maybe just us two, one day?”

“But it’s more fun with Lorna and the others!”

“Yeah, ye should pure try,” Moira joined in while holding a plate under the stream of hot water, “Ah thought ye an’ that Erik bloke had hit it off?”

In the meantime, Darwin had wandered over to the windowsill, coffee in hands, and studied the photos neatly lined up there in their polished frames. David as a baby, Charles with Gabrielle on a vacation to Paris when they had been younger, a group picture of Emma and Sebastian’s wedding – only one month old – and then, last in the line, a snapshot of Egypt Angel had sent them per email: all three clans, the Lehnsherrs, the Adler-Darkholmes, the Haller-Xaviers out on the _Seaside Pearl_ ’s jetty, tanned skin (except for Charles’, he sported a light sunburn instead) and hair glistening with water droplets as they laughed, chattered, got ready for their next round in the waves. And right at the edge of the wooden planks, beyond them only the endless blue of the horizon and the sea, sat Erik and Charles, motionless, looking into each others’ eyes as though they were the only two human beings in the whole wide world.

Charles knew exactly that this was what Armando was seeing. He had looked at the photograph far too many times, late at night, when David was fast asleep in bed and a tumbler of scotch had found its way in his hand. Actually, it had been David’s idea to print it and arrange it with the other pictures so nicely. He had put his foot down, the stubborn boy, almost as mulish as his father, and Charles just hadn’t been able to say no.

Understanding dawning on his features, Darwin took both frames over to Moira. “I see how this isn’t a good idea.”

First, a few seconds of silence as the doe-eyed woman studied the holiday photograph, and then a gasp that indicated she had moved on to the Frost-Shaw wedding. Charles had turned away to occupy himself with heating up David and Armando’s dinner, and still he could feel the shame burn itself a way through his cheeks.

Certainly, Moira had noticed the blatant difference between the two photos: In the wedding group picture, there was not an ember left of the fire that had burned between Erik and himself under the starry nights of Egypt. It wasn’t even like they were standing at opposite ends of the party, no, between them were only their children, smiling into the camera excitedly. But they weren’t even so much as looking at each other, both wearing a mask of joy, unreal, like plastic, and their bodies were angled in opposite directions, as though even a few feet were too small a distance for them. Anyone who knew some body language could feel the sheer resentment radiating off them with ease.

“Oh dear.” Moira clamped a hand over her mouth. “Sure, Ah see how that willnae work.”

After that, nobody said anything for a long time. Only the clatter of David and Darwin’s cutlery on their plates broke the silence, and then Moira plonking down on the couch to leave through another book of The Edge Chronicles. Charles sat in silence at the window, looking out at the city lights sparkling so much paler than Egypt’s stars, and thought about who he didn’t want to think about.

And when it was time for Armando and Moira to leave, both of them at the same time so they could escort each other to the underground station, the woman leaned down to draw Charles into a tight embrace smelling of her perfume and the chemicals of her lab equipment. He didn’t find himself drawing in her scent like a drowning man. She just wasn’t Erik.

She only let him go slowly, eyes never leaving his as she spoke, “Ah cannae know what happened, but please, you’ve got tae make this reit somehow. Ah know you, Charles, you cannea tell me this bloke doesnae mean anything tae you. Just… try tae talk tae him, please.”

He didn’t even get the chance to contradict her after that, for Darwin had already opened the door and was waving good-bye, so Moira followed without another look back.

She had a point. Of course, she had, after all, they had known each other for years now, as lab partners, friends, occasionally even more than that… When Raven had met her, she had dubbed her Supportive Ex No.3 (because apparently Charles seemed to have many of those) and had concluded that Moira was a human with brains and that Charles should just listen to her sometimes.

“Dad? Is everything alright?” David was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, in his pyjamas and with his toothbrush at the ready, like Charles had taught him to when bed time drew near.

Oh, what a good boy his son was. Maybe Erik hadn’t been so wrong when he had said Charles’ education couldn’t have been so bad-

He forbid himself to bring this thought to an end. No more doubts, no more worrying. He had made his decision, had made his mind up, and he would keep it at that. Some things just couldn’t be changed anymore.

Putting David to bed had proven to be less and less of a challenge over the past month, though. Since Egypt, his son had seemed to bloom into an independent individual even more than before, taking initiative where Charles had had to earlier, speaking up instead of remaining quiet and seclusive over dinner, talking about how he was finding friends at school and was seeing Kurt and Lorna and Anna Marie and the twins and and and… only when Darwin was taking him, of course, because Charles wouldn’t let his son run around the streets of New York without a responsible adult. There were too many mutates on the loose who considered themselves superheroes and regularly reduced whole streets to rubble. Armando was just the right guy to protect the kids.

_Everything’s fine, sunshine_ , Charles sent to his son, too weary to talk, and then proceeded to get him to bed. Making sure he brushed his teeth and didn’t try to read the night away (yes, it had happened once because Charles hadn’t expected David to smuggle three Edge Chronicle books into his bed), giving him a good night hug and a kiss, closing the door silently while his kid was already drifting away to where there were only dreams and merciful nothingness.

That night, he lay in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling. He felt like he had missed something. Lately, Armando was behaving strangely, and David sometimes looked at him and then it felt like he had pulled a shutter in front of his thoughts, leaving him utterly alone in his son’s presence.

Shivering, he pulled his covers further up. Something was happening, and he didn’t know if it was good or bad. And he couldn’t stop thinking about that night, about those two weeks, the sun on his skin and Erik’s hands.

That one month had been cruel, and he was beginning to wonder if his yearning would ever stop. The worst thing, though, was that he couldn’t even trust his own mind.

Because every time he dreamed, he dreamed of a slender body, not an ounce of fat too much. Of that jawline, like a cutting knife. And that tangle of thoughts which wasn’t an actual tangle, but a labyrinth, complicated and still inhumanely tidy, in which losing yourself was an inevitability.

So he slept and dreamed and could never quite shake the nagging feeling that there must be something more to come.

Erik stared at the clock on his car’s dashboard, cursing silently under his breath. NY traffic was awful once again, and now it just had begun to snow. He curled his powers further around the metal of his vehicle. Better safe than sorry with this weather.

Wanda’s voice came chirping from the backseat. “Turn left at the next crossroad, then it’ll be only three more minutes.”

“We’re late already anyway,” Pietro muttered so quietly Erik almost didn’t catch it, but when he did he frowned in frustration. Well, he didn’t want to show up a quarter of an hour too late for his eldest daughter’s presentation on her findings about animal therapy, either, but what was he supposed to do, levitate their car in the air and break every mutant law that was there? _Blame the traffic, son_ , he thought, _or walk if you’re not happy with me_.

Wanda giggled and whispered something to Pietro, who made a sour face but remained in his seat.

Strange. Normally, he would have taken Erik up on his challenge and sped all the way himself. But the children were behaving weirdly around him anyway as of late. Erik sighed. He didn’t want to know what they were on to _now_.

A parking space came into view, Wanda exclaimed that they had arrived and five minutes later, they were walking through the snow fall, collars drawn up against the icy February air. It was a relief to push open the coffee shop’s door where Anya would be holding her presentation, a cozy room with couches and tables by the window front and a smiling blond behind the counter-

Wait. He knew that boy, and he thought he even remembered his name. Alex, or something, the ex-juvie who had served him and… and Charles. On their first miserably failed date. And at his side stood a man, black-skinned, incredibly tall and lanky and with an arm around the other boy’s waist. Erik almost panicked at the realization that he knew him, too. Charles had shown him photos of David’s babysitter, and if the man didn’t have a twin, then what the hell was the original doing here?

This time, Erik did nothing smother his swearing. He had walked into a trap, and looking back on the last few weeks of his brood sneaking around him on tippy-toes, he should have seen it coming.

And really, a barely audible gasp came from the other side of the room – the lights were dimmed, Erik noted, bathing everything in shadow, and there were a screen and a projector set up at one wall – and he turned to look. Blue eyes, deeper than the daylight sky over Egypt, returned his look of astonishment and shame.

But then Anya was there, tugging him to one side of the room, away from the Haller-Xaviers, the Adler-Darkholmes, a doe-eyed woman and a guy who looked like he could be Kurt’s father all seated at the round tables in front of the windows, and Lorna came running with three mugs of steaming tea, handing both him and the twins each one.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Papa!” Anya was tugging him down onto a couch, and in behind her back, he could see Alex hurrying for the projector, switching it on. “I’ll start right now with the presentation, just sit here and watch.”

And off she was again, and Lorna curled up beside him and poked him in the ribs so he would stop staring at where Charles was sat in his wheelchair – the metal of the vehicle felt like coming home when he scanned over it, and there was the wrist watch Xavier occasionally wore –, flanked by David and Irene who was quietly whispering to Raven, stroking Kurt’s back where he sat on her lap and smiling warmly at Anna Marie.

“What-” Erik began, feeling sweat break out on the palms of his hands, and judging from Charles’ stupefied expression he wasn’t doing any better, but Lorna interrupted and put a finger to his lips.

“Pst, Papa! Anya möchte ihren Vortrag halten.” _(Hush, dad. Anya wants to hold her presentation.)_

Indeed, Anya had stepped up to the screen, Ratatouille on his usual perch on her shoulder. The projector’s insides whirred, it lit up and then there was a title slide big and bold for everybody in the café to see:

_Reasons Why_ _Charles Xavier And Erik Lehnsherr Should Keep Dating_

Erik groaned, slapped a hand in front of his face and wished the sofa cushions would swallow him whole. Of course, _of course_ , he should have seen this coming, his brood was _his_ brood after all, stubborn, with the dumbest ideas and hopelessly romantic.

Even in the darkness, he could make out Xavier’s flush (probably a full-body one, from what he had learned and, most importantly, seen in Egypt, oh, if only he could return…) when he peeked over to him between his fingers. Good, at least here they were seeing eye-to-eye on an issue. Now, the only thing left was to find a solution to the problem. Anya had already started talking and skipped to the next slide, full with pictures of Egypt – he wondered where she had found those, and then he remembered the countless emails from Angel which he had left to his kids to open because he _just didn’t care anymore_ – and the cheesy titles “Finding Love in Egypt”. Good. If the presentation depended on the projector, Erik could incapacitate the device and then shoo everyone who wasn’t of his blood out so he could give his children a good scolding, because seriously, what were they thinking-

_You_ , a voice whispered in his mind and made goosebumps creep up his arms, _will do no such thing_.

And then Emma Frost herself strutted over, the coffee shop’s door sliding closed behind her figure wrapped in pristinely white fur, and lowered herself at Erik’s other side, delicately crossing her legs and smoothing the wrinkles out of the silky fabric of her skirt.

“Why, hello there, merry widow,” Erik growled under his breath, “is the mourning over already?”

He got an icy smile in return, and a finger pointed at a jet-black brooch showing a finely worked rose clipped to Emma’s breast. _I consider this my mourning dress_.

To everybody’s surprise, Emma’s husband Sebastian Shaw had departed this life only three weeks after their pompous wedding. The police investigation hadn’t given any evidence for murder, the autopsy claimed it had been a good old-fashioned heart attack. Considering Shaw’s ability to absorb and shape energy had procured him a lifespan of a hundred of years already, this seemed like a reasonable cause of death.

Erik, of course, knew better, but as long as Emma didn’t show any remorse – she would have her reasons, he knew, and everybody had heard the rumors of Shaw’s dubious past occupations –, he wouldn’t either. The authorities would never get on her tale anyway, of this she could be sure.

And now, the murderess was sitting calmly at his side, with millions in her bank account. She could provide well for her quintuplets now (Erik still didn’t want to know how or where she had got them, because even though Emma Frost _didn’t get pregnant_ , the girls’ features eerily resembled hers).

In the meantime, Anya had moved on from explaining the situation and was beginning a theatrically overplayed pleading for reason from both sides, because everybody knew they complemented each other like the sun and the moon, and that should they unite, two families would be one and so on.

_Fuck this_ , Erik thought and was about to get up to tear down the screen, when a diamond-hard grip at his wrist held him down.

_If I were you, I would consider all the possibilities closely_ , Emma interjected. _Erik, you haven’t been yourself since Egypt. Just admit to yourself that you’ve fucked up, go over there and get your man, but stop making everybody miserable. We know you want this, too._

Hissing, Erik freed himself from her grasp. “You don’t know what I want,” he snarled quietly, “and what Charles wants! He didn’t even look at me on your wedding, and on Shaw’s funeral, what do you expect to happen if I talked to him, a miracle?”

_Yes_. A smile, sharp like a dagger of ice, and then the woman in white glanced up to where Anya stood grinning.

“Oh, and,” Erik’s traitorous eldest was saying, going on and strutting around in front of her joke of a Power Point presentation like Tony Stark at one of his technology fairs, “then of course we mustn’t forget that the only thing that just won’t fit is Charles’ skin color, because he always looks like a cooked lobster even if he only lies in the sun for ten seconds.”

At that, a bark of laughter shattered the solemn silence which had fallen over the audience, and Erik startled. It was Charles, curling up in his wheelchair and hysterically swiping tears of joy from the corners of his eyes. Beside him, Raven’s pearl-white grin illuminated the twilight like a lantern.

Anya fell silent with everybody else staring at Xavier’s wheezing. Erik facepalmed harder and began considering his escape routes: behind the counter a door led away, probably to the staff entrance, but that was where Darwin and Alex had positioned themselves, and the front door was blocked as well, by Irene who had pushed her chair in front of it as though she knew about his intentions (which she most probably did). There was a vent shaft just right above him, but Emma would hold him by his ankles if he tried to twist away the grate and climb up. He was beginning to contemplate just making a run for it through the glass front of the café, when Charles stilled and straightened up, a coy smile remaining on his lips.

And then he spoke. Not to Erik directly, no, to everybody present, but he spoke, and Erik felt like a thirsting man finally getting a drink of water. Slowly, it began to dawn on him just how much he had missed Charles Xavier.

“Oh well,” the man was saying, “that explains why you all were frantically thinking about pizza and pizza only as soon as I walked in.”

Now, the whole room erupted into laughter, both embarrassed and relieved. Only Erik didn’t join in, making no effort at all to relax his stony face.

Emma was right. There was his chance, and he only had to take it.

He got up, crossed the room and got to his knees at the side of Charles’ wheelchair.

Again, a hush fell over the room, and you could have cut the air with a knife, so thick was the anticipation and the dread lacing it.

“Charles,” Erik began, then had to clear his throat before he could continue, “I fucked up, badly, and I’m sorry. I’m an idiot, a total idiot. Please- I don’t know what to say to make it better, I just-”

“You _are_ and idiot.” Charles took his hand in his and smiled down at him. Only now did Erik note the bags under his eyes, his harried expression. Those two months apart hadn’t been good to either of them. “And I don’t know how you could make this better, either. I won’t accept being a second choice, Erik. I can accept that you will forever honour Magda’s memory, but I can’t accept you always comparing her to me.” He squeezed Erik’s hand, tightly. “I’m not Magda, Erik, and I never will be.” And then he let go.

Erik though he held on, and he knew he would never let go again if it was needed. “You’re not Magda, Charles, I know, I’ve realized, so please-” Around him, the room was deadly silent, all eyes trained on them- “give me another chance.”

_I love you for who you are_.

And he sought out the bright, warm light where he knew he would find Charles’ mind and remembered all the times Charles had been different from his wife, and Erik had loved him just as fiercely. Charles’ skin, so vulnerable to the sun. Charles reading to his son, and then to Erik’s kids, too, when they had come to listen, so awkward and still so caring. Charles floating in the waves, holding onto Erik as though he was the only thing keeping him over the surface and laughing still, a deep rumble resonating in Erik’s ears.

There were tears in Charles’ eyes, and Erik’s were suspiciously moist as well when the telepath leaned down and pressed his lips to his metalbender’s.

Around them, whooping and yelling broke the silence like a storm flood, chairs were screeching over the hardwood floor and the light was turned on. “Hot damn,” Alex could be hear yelling over the tumult, “seriously didn’t think this would work!” And then Darwin’s voice, deep, soothing, urging him to get the snacks from the kitchen.

“One third,” Anya declared. “It took them one third of the Power Point to make up! Whose bet is closest to one third?”

A whole lot of voices were raised after that, small sandwiches and pastries were distributed and someone put on salsa music. Alex and Darwin were the first on the dance floor, closely followed by Emma and that brunette friend of Charles’ she had been eyeing since she had walked in (Erik would later learn that the woman’s name was Moira, that she was one of Charles’ Supportive Exes™and that she had always wanted to be a mother of quintuplets). Raven was desperately trying to keep Kurt and David from taking a sip of her double espresso while Irene received congratulations from everyone for canceling out all the ways the mission could have gone wrong, and the neighbors were probably asking themselves who in the world had rented a whole coffee shop to celebrate the showing of a bunch of holiday pictures.

Well, Charles and Erik couldn’t care less. Even when Wanda and Pietro came over to make them videocall the _Seaside Pearl_ ’s crew – Angel smiling like a fool, Sean like his ship had just sailed and Janos staring at Azazel, oddly transfixed, while Logan and Laura were polishing their claws in the background –, their smiles didn’t waver, their hands never left each other, and their minds stayed as they were, entwined like the strings in a piece of yarn.

There was a lot to discuss, of course. Should they move in witch each other, maybe get a house? Charles’ family estate had more than enough room for that. And when to get married, so they could adopt each others’ children? First, they had to recover from the last months, taking the plunge could wait.

“Not a bad third date, is it?” Charles whispered and laid his head on Erik’s shoulder.

Gently, Erik pressed a kiss onto the unruly mop of his boyfriend’s hair. “Well,” he said and grinned when Charles laid a hand on his thigh, just a tad bit too far up to convey an innocent intention, “you know what they say.”

Humming, Charles turned his head, and only after kissing Erik, twice, thoroughly, did he say, “No, I don’t. You tell me, love.” And if softness could have hurt, Erik would have died from just one look into his blue, blue eyes.

Grinning, Erik watched as their found family celebrated the success of their date.

“ _Third time’s a charm_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I write a fluffy & smutty epilogue to this? *intense thinking*

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed (especially you, dear giftee)! Leave kudos and comments if you feel like it, that would make my day (: thank you for reading ;3 and have a lovely holiday season, as festive or non-festive as you wish it to be!


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